Shadows of What Once Was
by Lord of the Saiyans
Summary: Vegeta, Nappa and Raditz are sent to a conference on Frieza's orders. The intent? To scare a rebellious world back into line. Things get complicated however when they are implicated in a murder, and with Frieza's orders not to cause chaos, they are forced to try and work through it on their own. To make matters worse, someone is playing events behind the scenes...
1. Prelude: Stalking

He'd been hunting the monster for six days when he finally found it again. He was tired by then, knew that his body was on the very verge of giving out. Six days with hardly any sleep, and only the food and water provided by the automated systems of his armour. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and each step was an effort for him as he made his way slowly through the thick jungle. Mist hung heavy in the air, and above the trees, the crimson sky blazed with light and life. In the distance, the calls of some predatory avian creatures, they circled, spiralling higher into the sky.

He moved. Step by step, inch by inch, careful as any experienced hunter had to be. The mud was slippery underfoot, and if he wasn't cautious, he could fall and create enough noise to alert the beast to his presence. He stopped, and knelt down, the mottled brown of his armour took a moment to adjust, and then shifted into a more earthy hue, the sensors set into the skin of the carapace noting and mimicking his surroundings.

There were tracks in the mud. Two-legged, with a deep in-step which promised powerful and muscular legs. A killer for sure. He felt his stomach lurch, as it always did when it came to the hunt. A mix of anticipation and fear forming a heady concoction which threatened to sweep over his sleep-deprived mind.

No. Couldn't allow it. Had to focus.

The drugs flooded his system, bringing with them a sharp, cool wave of energy and strength. He'd pay for it later, but for a while, the need to rest faded into a dull background ache that he could ignore.

Time to move. The prey was close. Sensors on his armour had noted its presence a few times, but after six frustrating days of cat and mouse, he was finally close enough to find some actual signs. It could be over in hours, or even less time if he was lucky.

If he was very unlucky, it could be over in minutes.

The helmet screen displayed a constant read-out, marking the path of the footsteps for his old eyes. There were scans showing the depth of the prints, the space between each one, and how this might factor into the size and power of the beast he hunted. It had been walking heavily, too heavily even for one of its kind. Hurt then? Blood. There was a drop of it off to the side of the tracks, the drops so small that he would have missed them if not for the sensors of his armour.

Behind his visor, he smiled.

Good. So the locals hadn't died without cause. They had wounded it, as he'd first hoped when he saw the gut-wrenching sight of their abandoned towns along the border to the forest. It was hurt. Not too badly, but in his experience, creatures like this didn't tend to react well to any wound at all. It had been angry, and lashed out at the villagers, then, burned out, retreated here to heal.

Never knowing that he was stalking it every step of the way.

A flash of yellow pinged across his HUD, noting a rising power level to the east of his current location. The tracks led that way too.

He shouldered his rifle, and followed them.

* * *

Three hours later, he was still patiently stalking his prey. He was moving slowly, each footfall careful, each breath sharp, and low. Even as much as a mistimed gasp could betray his position, beasts like this had sharp senses. He'd killed enough to know that.

He'd killed a great many of them indeed. Juveniles, mostly. The ones too young to be left to mature. The ones who'd grow up to be a much bigger threat if he let them go. There was no such things as a harmless monster when it came to these things, even the youngest had to be destroyed before they grew into their size and power. Sometimes, he was too late, and by the time he came to an area, the present beast had already reached its prime. Those were the hardest hunts, the most desperate, the most bitterly fought. Beneath his armour, his skin was scarred and wounded from a dozen such battles, and there wasn't a single one he could say that he had walked away from easily afterwards.

Hopefully, he'd come here in time. The forest was still mostly intact, and there was a minimum of fire and destruction, so he was optimistic that this was indeed the case.

Sometimes, it felt like he lived his life for times like this. Those careful moments, the hunts where he knew that win or lose, it rode on the very edge of the blade. That speed and cunning and his suit of powered armour were all that stood between himself and his enemy, and that when he was done with his work, another one of _them_ would lie bleeding at his feet.

He hated them. Hated them with a passion known only to those who had suffered and lost everything. All he had left was the armour he wore, the gun at his side, and his sole reason for existence was to act as a subtle guardian, never known nor thanked. Just a shadow who made sure that none had suffered as he had once before.

That was all there was to his life now. All he needed there to be. True, for most of the time, he was mired in the memory of what he had lost, of loved ones slain, and family destroyed. Here and now though, he was in the moment. Riding the thrill of the hunt. There was nothing and no one but himself and his target. Perhaps he'd win, and perhaps by the end of the day, he'd be the one face down in the mud, bleeding out his last.

Whatever the case, he looked forward to it.

The treeline broke, and he slowed further. Letting his chameleon armour once more adjust the hues across his body. He paused by the shade of a large tree, using its shadow as cover.

He looked out across the clearing.

There was a river, running through the centre of it, trundling happily along, the water white and furious where it was driven over the sharp bed of rocks, but it looked clean and cold. Enough to remind him painfully that he hadn't drunk _real_ water in almost a week. The sound of the river was a gurgling rush, a low-intensity roar that seemed to fill up the space left empty by trees. Around the river, there was growing a field of thick grass, which reached as high as a man's torso. It was green and vibrant, and probably what had killed the trees that originally dwelt here, if he was any judge as to the condition of the local flora.

But that didn't matter too much to him, because along with the river and the grass, there was a crude camp. A tent, which was merely the skin of some large grazing animals stretched over a skeleton of wooden poles, and a burned down pit where a fire once had been.

There was a creature sitting in the shadow of he river, dangling their hands into its flowing form. He zoomed in, and noted the faint traces of red washing along the current.

Blood.

The figure looked like a child, had to be younger than ten standard years. Spiked hair, sweeping backwards like a crowd. A cocky, arrogant face, with a body that wasn't quite muscular, but still spoke of vigorous exercise and conditioning. The boy had a brown tail, moving freely as he washed himself, and he could spot a healing wound in his side.

The target.

The old one brought his gun to bear. He knelt down, and locked the targeting systems to his armour's HUD. Instantly, numbers began to scroll down past his left eye. Calculations accounting for gravity, for kickback, and for the curvature of the planet. Local weather condition, his gun's current status, and a dozen other things as well. Once, it had been a distraction, but now it was comforting. Showing him that everything was working as it should.

His weapon was practically unique. Not one of a kind, but one of an increasingly limited edition. There were few like it left. It operated on a focused-energy principle, drawing power from its internal generator, and from additional wires connecting it to his suit, in order to build up to a shot of very high potency. It was slow firing. A sniper-type weapon. Rapid firing guns had been tried, to merely limited effect. These creatures needed to be put down hard, and the sacrifice of power for speed was rarely worth it.

One shot. It had to be one shot. Right to the head. Give no chance. No quarter. It might have looked like a child, but it was a monster with the blood of billions on its hands. A thousand dead worlds screamed for vengeance, a hundred living ones begged him to save them from their fate.

An adult monster would be beyond the range of even this weapon to handle. He'd have had to wear it down, or take it by surprise with a more powerful shot, risking draining his armour in only a few volleys if things went badly. This wasn't the case with a juvenile, especially with a feral who hadn't yet learned to properly control his power.

The reading on his HUD announced the weapon to be charged. He took one last moment to fix his aim, and fired.

In an instant, the space between the hunter and his prey was broken by a line of harsh, yellow light. Like a spear of energy had been hurled, covering the intervening space between them before a breath could be drawn. The young monster was fast, with good instincts. Even as quickly as the energy swept towards him, his head snapped upwards, and he did his best to throw himself to safety.

He took the hit to his shoulder instead of his head, and gave a howl of pain as a large, wet wound was torn, shredding ligament, and blackening bone. He was impaled, run through by the energy, and then it faded. The kid… the monster… fell to his knees. There was no blood from the wound, it was too well cooked for that.

The hunter cursed. Not a lethal shot, he had to-

The creature's eyes snapped up. His face was pale with pain, but there was no fear, instead, there was fury. His working hand came up, brimming with power, with gathered energy.

"Not good."

The monster let loose, obliterating the area where the hunter had been. Harsh light beat against his position, and he was forced to kick his personal shield into high mode just to survive. Even so, he was battered and thrown backwards, smashing into a tree with a painful thud. His armour absorbed most of the impact, but it was enough to send his shield sputtering out.

Red lights flashed before his eyes,

 **Shield Disabled. Repairing…**

Weapon sync compromised, restart?

"No." He muttered. "Disengage."

There was a hiss, and the wires that ran from the weapon to his armour detached, writhing like living things for a moment as the gun fell from his hands. Useless now. It was too slow to fire.

The enemy was coming. The monster charging, his useless arm trailing behind him. He let loose a roar, a savage, beast-like snarl. Nothing good about it. Nothing like any civilized species should make.

"RRAAARRRRGHH!" The monster gave a wordless scream of rage and hate, the last sound that so many had heard before they were taken to the long dark.

Not him. Not now.

The hunter moved. Rising to his feet to meet the attacker. His species was nowhere near as fast or strong as the little monster's, even at the best of times, and he was old even by their standards. But his armour was well maintained, servos and mechanical tendons tensed and released, lending him strength and speed beyond that which was his right.

But he was still the underdog here.

The creature came at him with a wild swing, he ducked, and the boy's fist ploughed into a tree, shattering it instantly, and sending splinters of wood raining down around them. The hunter kicked out, landing a blow to the gut that knocked the wind from his foe.

"Divert power to electrical generators."

 **Confirmed.**

There was a slight change of tone as his suit followed his command, and then a crackling hiss as his hands became wreathed in lightning. He struck forwards, lancing a straight hook to the boy's nose, but the monster swayed away. His attack went wide, and then the boy was under his guard. The hunter grunted as even his armour failed to fully block the next kick that the monster landed, sending him tumbling across the ground.

Pain exploded as his body dealt with the impact, he came to a stop, and rose quickly, but the creature was faster still, it caught his desperately lashing fist, and threw him into the air. Before he could recover, two more blows, this time, against his face. He heard something metallic shriek and break, and his HUD went dark. This didn't matter too much, though, for the next attack tore his broken helmet away, exposing his face to the putrid stench of the deep jungle. He gasped, sweat beading his forehead, the air feeling cold for one who had been locked away for so long.

He wasn't going to give up. His hand shot out, locking around his enemy's wrist, and discharging as much electricity as he could into it. The boy...the creature...the monster… the _Saiyan_ screamed in pain, and threw him off, staggering back. The hunter landed again, and forced himself to his feet. He could feel the pain of a deep, long wound across his forehead where something had cut him. That didn't matter now, however. The Saiyan was recovering, eyes glittering with malice and evil.

The hunter moved first. Super-charging his gauntlets with a command, and filling the air between them with crackling, screaming electricity. The Saiyan howled again, the flickering tendrils strobing over his body. The hunter pumped enough power into him to kill any other species a dozen times over, but still he refused to fall.

 **Warning: Energy capacity approaching critical levels. Thirty-Two percent.**

Twenty Nine Percent.

Twenty One Percent.

The Saiyan was staggering back, and the hunter followed, blasting him with absolutely everything he had. But it wasn't enough. The monster was stunned, in pain, but it wasn't dying. A Saiyan never died easy if they could avoid it.

"Come on. _Come on._ Stop fighting and die."

 **Eighteen percent.**

Thirteen Percent.

Nine percent.

With a motion that was half thought and half gesture, he cut the power, and for a moment, the Saiyan lurched wildly. In that split second, he dove forwards. A blade extended from the palm of one of his gauntlets, wreathed in a vivid light. He cut downwards, for the throat of the monster, but the Saiyan was away enough to catch his arm with an iron grip. The hunter cursed, and tried to pull back, but all the strength afforded to him by the most advanced armour his species had ever produced was still less than that of a Saiyan child.

He was desperate. Low on power, and with no shield, he knew he couldn't endure many direct hits. So he reacted by forcing the attack, using the Saiyan's grip on him as an anchor, he spun, and kicked the child directly in the shoulder where he had been wounded before. The Saiyan released his hold in the flood of pain, and the hunter bounded forwards. The knife flashed, and traced a path of red across the youth's throat.

The Saiyan clutched at his throat in pain and shock, blood welling between his fingers. He was dead and they both knew it, but he didn't fall so easily. He pushed forwards again, hurling the hunter into a nearby tree. It exploded around him, and he spat blood, trying to rise. The Saiyan was chocking, coughing. Still struggling to get at him.

Then, he went over. Falling forwards. He still wasn't dead. Trying to crawl, trying to breath. The hunter retrieved his weapon, and put a weaker round through the youth's head. The body spasmed, and then went still.

He sighed. Standing for a moment, and letting the adrenaline fade. The battle had been but a few moments, and yet he would have new scars to add to his collection by the time he was healed. He looked down at the body. In death, the monster seemed little more than a child.

That was one of the things that was treacherous about them. The Saiyans had killed a thousand worlds, and how many of those could have been saved if only they had known not to underestimate a child? Well, this was one that wouldn't grow up. Wouldn't kill for sport or pleasure. Wouldn't leave a trail of worlds, burning in his wake.

It was one small mercy, at least. One less monster in a universe full of them.

Very much feeling his age at that moment, he moved to check on his helmet, but knew with a despondent air that it was probably ruined beyond all compare. He was right. It was pulped, there was little left but scrap metal.

Fourteen weeks of research in the archives to track the known flight paths of Saiyan space pods, and six days of tracking across the surface of this blighted world, and what he had to show for it was a close fight, a dead Saiyan, and a ruined helmet. Once, he'd been so sure that it was worth it, but now he didn't know.

All he knew for sure was that he'd do it again and again.

Until one of them finally managed to kill him.

There was a beeping noise, which distracted him for a moment, before he realised that with his helmet destroyed, his suit was routing communications to his wrist com instead. He raised it slowly, and tapped a button which was revealed when an armoured compartment swung aside.

"Roran here." He said slowly, taking his time until his heart had stopped hammering. "Who are you, and how did you get this link?"

"Roran, it's me." Said the voice of one of his more well known customers. "I have another job for you, not quite like the last… I need someone to provide security."

"Not my job." The old man said. "I hunt Saiyans. That's all I do. All I'll ever do."

"You may need to do just that if this goes south. Look, I can't tell you the exact details like this, but let me just say that your experience will be needed. There are Saiyans coming, and I need someone who knows them and can hunt them to set up security."

"Will there be fighting?"

"Not if things go according to plan. The Saiyans are here on a mission of peace, as representatives of the Planet Trade."

"And you actually believe that?"

"Of course not. That's why I want to hire you. Three Saiyans. Can you handle that?"

"No, probably not. I may try anyway, though. Why did you come to me specifically? There are plenty of mercenary forces that would take half the price I demand."

"They would be useless, besides, I figure that this might be personal for you."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Their leader. It's Prince Vegeta."

"Prince...Vegeta…? That can't be, I thought he was dead with his world."

"Apparently not. You can see why I called you. If something does happen… Roran, I fear for my world and my people. I am their ruler, but I have no experience here. I want you on hand, in case things go badly. If they do, even if you can't save my world, if you kill Vegeta..."

"I could avenge my own..." The old man rumbled. "Very well, it seems you know how to lure me into it. I'll accept the job. Standard commission, plus double if things go badly."

"Granted." The man said. "Now get back here as fast as you can. They're being sent by Frieza… I can't exactly delay them."

"Don't worry, I can be there in a week. How long until the meeting?"

"Three."

"Good." Roran smirked, the blood clotting around his teeth giving him a sinister air. "That's enough time to get back and prepare some tricks just in case. I'll talk to you when I am back on my ship proper."

He closed the link, and for a moment, looked up into the red sky, lost in thought.

Prince Vegeta. Prince Vegeta. He never thought he'd have that chance. To slay the monster who descended from the king of all monsters…

It wouldn't quite fix their mistake. Nothing could do that. But it would be something of a start, at least.


	2. Chapter One: A Frank Exchange of Views

"So tell me it again." Nappa said for the fourth time, his back pressed into the leather seat of the luxurious travel-couch set into the far wall of the slowly descending ship. Below them, the capital city of Erasha spread out, a sprawling collection of golden buildings illuminated by strobing lights. It was like something out of a fairy tale, some desert king's pride and joy. The streets were wide, open and inviting. The buildings roomy, many of them didn't have glass windows at all. The Erashans weren't the sort of people to whom such things were important, and anyway, the baking heat would often make such places quite uncomfortable.

There were fountains frequently. Man-made rivers flowed to them, cutting below streets, and emerging along the sides to water flower beds and gardens, adding yet more colour to the garish city. Raditz looked down from the window of their travel-pod, seeing the city laid out for them. He noted how big it was, but with an eye bred for far more than simple diplomacy, he couldn't help but notice as well that it was defended. Oh, they'd hidden it well, but they couldn't prevent him from noticing. Even a third rate Saiyan like him had sacked enough planets to see it. The large towers that seemed to be scattered, at least one to every district of the city. Though, they were green with creepers, and water flowed down their sides in a living example of the richness of the city, he knew defensive batteries when he saw them. Come an attack, those nice little ornamental towers would be spitting fiery death at anyone who came too close.

There were other things too. The streets were wide and open; currently, that was being taken advantage of by the natives, and he could see them crowding through them. A muddle of aliens from a dozen worlds. There were markets, and there were fairs, and there were even races, and sports that could be seen taking place as they moved towards their destination. But in a pinch, those roads could be cleared, and he couldn't help but notice how carefully they'd been laid out. How they'd allow transit from any part of the city to any other part of it. He noticed how some buildings, quite in contrast to their big, colourful peers, seemed to sit squatly. As though sunken into the earth. Their roofs were rounded, and now all the tumbling, crashing water in the world could convince him that those weren't military posts, and that he and his allies were not even now being watched by dozens of pairs of eyes.

Maybe they would even try to shot them out of the sky and tell Frieza that they'd never arrived. Unlikely, but possible. Raditz felt a trill of anxiety. He didn't mind risking his life too much, he'd been doing it since he was born. But that was always when his own skill and power would be the deciding factor. Up here, in the slow moving, unshielded visitor-pod, he knew that they would be presenting a prime target.

As the weakest of the three Saiyans sent by Frieza, if it came down to a surprise attack, he knew that he was likely the one who would die first.

He frowned. Aware of how his own thoughts were dwelling on his weakness. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Tell you what, Nappa?" Vegeta responded without turning around. Of all of them, he was the only one to be standing. Dressed in his full armour, his hands crossed behind his back, he looked out the windows with an expression of boredom. Raditz wondered if he wished that they were allowed to just glass the world like they'd done with so many others.

Sadly. This wasn't to be the case. Erasha was _useful_ in a way that most worlds weren't. It had extremely developed orbital infrastructure, and a long history. More than that, it was rich, filthy rich, serving as a trade nexus and making a steady secondary income on the construction and sale of starship. It was a hub of industry and economy, the kind of world that could afford a _very_ good army in the name of self-defence.

That probably meant nothing to Vegeta. He was the Prince. As far as he was concerned, if he decided the world would die, then that was how it would be. Nappa thought the same way, he was elite, after all. A team of elites would have slagged even this place.

Raditz didn't think like that. He wasn't elite. They were still in the air, and he was already feeling out of his element. This was the type of world he and his kind would never be sent to deal with. A place where even if he went Oozaru, he'd be brought down by sheer numbers…

And that wasn't really an option for him anymore…

He suppressed that instinctive shudder, as well as the flash of disgust that accompanied it. He'd lost his tail. He'd _lost his tail._ What kind of Saiyan lost their tail?

 _Calm. Relax. Focus. Take a deep breath, let it pass over you._

The feeling faded, though he knew it would be back later. Saiyan tails could regenerate, but it took years, sometimes even decades. He'd be powerless for a long time. He wondered during his darker hours just what Nappa must have said to Vegeta to prevent the prince from killing him outright. A Saiyan without a tail was less than worthless, after all, and he couldn't believe that Vegeta would have shown mercy on his own.

Speaking of Nappa… Raditz's eyes drifted slowly to where the two elite Saiyans were arguing back and forth. He winced again as he saw the way that Nappa's arm was cut off at the shoulder. It had happened in the same fight that he'd lost his tail. A fight that he'd almost never expected to wake up from.

Arkosians. Damned Arkosians. They were dead now. Arkos had burned in retaliation. Wiped clean by the hand of Frieza. There were survivors, but they were feral. For all intents and purposes, the Arkosian culture was dead.

Another dead species littered in their wake. Raditz grinned at the thought, the sadistic joy enough to break even his morose thoughts. Yeah, he'd lost his tail, but the Arkosians had lost a hell of a lot more.

He tuned back into the conversation in time for it to come to the point which he already knew all too well.

"But Vegeta." Nappa was saying. "What I don't understand is this… why is he sending _us_ of all people? If Frieza wants this place brought into compliance, why not send the Ginyu Force? Or even come himself… they're too useful to destroy, but that doesn't mean we can't hurt them a lot."

"He doesn't want the disruption." Vegeta responded with a scowl towards the city below. "Erasha is useful. Just because the current ruler has been acting up is no reason to destroy or damage such a lucerative city." By the way he spoke, the derision was plain in his voice. "So we're ordered to make an appearance, renegotiate certain things, and then be about our way again. No damage that can possibly be avoided."

Raditz nodded at himself. He understood _that_ point well enough. They were a living threat, a reminder of the kind of monsters that Frieza had under arms. The Ginyu Force were feared for their deeds and power, but the Saiyans were feared for their very history and being. There was no one who wasn't rightfully terrified of the Saiyans, and even now that their species was gone, the name still had power. More power, even. As though now that the homeworld was destroyed, the arrival of Vegeta and his entourage was a nasty surprise that no one had any reason to suspect.

It came down to fear and awe. Vegeta, Nappa and Raditz weren't expected to really negotiate, just to stand around menacingly until the Erashan king came round to Frieza's way of speaking. If he didn't, they were probably going to have to do something else later, but Raditz didn't have any orders specifically for that eventuality. Maybe Vegeta did, or maybe they were just meant to figure it out on their own.

Raditz found himself vaguely hoping that it was the latter, because the city was starting to annoy him with its bright colours and dried out landscape. The golden brick which was used to construct the buildings seemed garish to him, the streets were too wide, and it was too obviously a military base cloaked in a civilian robe.

"There's the palace." Nappa said, peering out through one side of the window. "You can see we're getting close to it now. Man, these little aliens like their colours, don't they?"

"Hmmp." Vegeta scowled again. "They have as little taste as they have power."

Raditz said nothing. Instead, he peered out of the window, trying his best to spot the palace, and to isolate it from the rest of the city. It wasn't a very difficult job. The thing was massive, rising above the rest of the city like a tower would rise above a collection of toothpicks. He could already tell that it was its own self-contained little world. There were gardens, and pools, and yet more flowing water. The sides were wrapped in curtains of flowering creeper-plants, showing alternately blooms of red, blue, yellow and white. The building itself was large; a squat, central construction which formed the base of a rising series of towers. Each one big enough to hold a small town's worth of people. There were four towers, and they were interconnected. Walkways and tunnels linked them together as they rose into the sky.

They looked improbably big, and rather unwieldy too. Raditz wondered how they kept them from falling over when the weather was rough, but then, he supposed they could be shielded, or reinforced. He'd seen such things before. Usually from cultures that had more artistic merit than sense.

The Erashans were quickly starting to fall into that category.

Each of the towers was a massive thing, but they didn't stand alone either. Each one had its own flock of attendants, gardens, pools, meeting places, open-topped rooms. They all connected to the main body, accessible only through that tower. They had ports as well, open holes in the sides of their stony bodies through which poured more water, crashing and rolling as it descended, until it flowed into the moat which formed at the base of the palace. The moat fanned out then, spreading to the rest of the city.

"Hah." Raditz said, looking at it. "Think there might be a message in there?"

"Yeah." Nappa murmured back. "And it's ''we control your water, so shut up and do what we say.''"

Raditz grinned, sharing an amused look with the older Saiyan before they both turned back to the window. Nappa was a hard teacher, but thanks to his work, Raditz was truly becoming stronger. He was better now than he'd ever been before, even though he had to admit to himself that it was a hard struggle. A painful one.

The travel-pod was a slow ship, designed for stately visits, and it was gliding gradually towards one of the tallest towers. It slowed further as they approached, probably intended to let them take an even better look at the palace. Raditz heard water cascading off the sides of the ship.

"I guess it's a natural obsession." He allowed, after a moment. "On a desert planet like this, water is life. Palace like this, shows wealth. Shows _power_."

He felt a bone-shaking impact as Nappa struck him across the back. To Raditz, the gesture of approval almost felt more like an attack.

"See?" Nappa said to him. "I told you that learning about this place would be useful when we came here."

 _Yeah, but you only told me to do it so that you wouldn't have to._ Raditz didn't say that. He knew better. As friendly as Nappa could be at times, there was still that gulf between them. One was an elite, and the other was low class. That was simply all there was to it.

"Posturing." Vegeta commented sourly. "They lack real power, so they make do with appearances. They're wasting our time with this. It would be faster to fly ourselves."

"Frieza told us to make sure we did nothing to upset things here, my prince." Nappa pointed out mildly. "Flying out on our own could upset them."

They were docking now. Coming down near one of the numerous ceremonial gardens. It was one that was overgrown with dark trees, their branches long and wide, casting half the place into murky shadow. Aqueducts ran to and from the garden, and careful placement of them had facilitated a light rain.

There were figures waiting for them in the garden. Raditz peered down at them, curious despite himself. Erashans fit the standard humanoid template pretty well. Two arms, two legs, single head, and hair. Where they differed, it was subtle. Their hair was darker than average, their skin was tanned. They were adapted for desert living, able to make efficient use of water, he remembered. He'd done some basic research on them before they'd come, but it had been boring. There was nothing interesting about their culture really. They didn't even have much in the way of fighters.

There was a whole assembly of them in the garden. At least Sixty, probably more. A group stood at the back, their hands wrapped around various musical instruments, playing to honour their visitors. A small group stood before the musicians, several figures clothed in finery which probably made them important. He didn't much care. The other group were soldiers. Garbed in ceremonial gear, but wielding very real weapons.

His lips pulled back in a feral grin.

It was nice that they knew who they were dealing with.

"They make a nice sight, all lined up, right?" Nappa said. "Wonder how long it would take us to kill them all."

"Seconds." Vegeta scoffed. "Not a warrior amongst them. Check your scouter."

Raditz did just that, tapping the button on the side of the device to trigger it from standby mode. After a moment, numbers flashed before one of his eyes, noting the power of each of the figures that they were slowly getting closer to.

 _Average is, let me see… about fifteen? Some go as high as a hundred or so… Prince Vegeta is right. This lot is about as powerful and mighty as a newborn calf. If it wasn't for their tech, I could probably bring this world to compliance alone._

The ship docked with a final lurch. There was a hiss, and the doors at the far end folded themselves open, letting the misty air in. Raditz took a deep breath, tasting it thoughtfully, letting the scent wash over him. Then came the sound, of course. The ringing music, all boastful and strong. There were drums and trumpets.

Vegeta got up first, moving outwards. Nappa behind him, and Raditz, by silent agreement, taking up the rear. It was the first time in years that he had come to an alien planet he wasn't meant to conquer, and he was already starting to regret that. The music was annoyingly loud, and the stifling heat of the planet was only mildly reduced by the rain that fell from the carefully set up aqueducts above.

As they walked under the shadow of the trees, they saw the massed soldiers up close. They were clad in finery. In red robes with gold frogging, trimmed with blues and greens. They had hats, long, pointed caps, as though in imitation of the towers themselves. There twenty, or thirty of them, brandishing energy weapons that he didn't recognise.

How simple it would be to reach out and obliterate them all.

The soldiers parted. The second, smaller group moved forward. The King, presumably. Raditz saw him at once. He was wearing armour. Golden armour, inlaid with silver and jewels. A rich, crimson cloak fell behind him. The greaves and chest of the golden armour was picked out in words, an alien tongue he couldn't read. The king himself stood proud, or at least, tried to. His hair was dark, like most of his species, but streaked with the silver of age. His skin was leathery, and deeply tanned. His eyes blazed. A powerful gaze which swept through their group. But he was clearly an older man, and it was showing. Sweat beaded his forehead from the heat of the armour, even though something like that probably had its own air conditioning unit.

"I am Era-Sha." The man said, his voice was booming, powerful, a voice used to command. Raditz wasn't swayed one inch. After all, he served a much greater and more powerful prince. What could such a lesser being have to make him more worthy than a Saiyan like prince Vegeta? He could see by the twitching of his lips that Nappa was having the same thoughts. Poor, foolish, arrogant aliens. Did they really think that they could impress Saiyans like this? Did they really think that any of them cared?

Era-Sha went on, oblivious to Raditz's inner thoughts.

"By the grace of the eternal sea, and the waters that flow forth from it, I am king of this world and this people. And as king, I greet you. Name yourselves to us, so that we may commune as equals."

"Vegeta." The young noble said, almost lazily. "Prince of the Saiyans. This is my second in command, Nappa, who holds the rank of general. The third is Raditz."

"I see." The king said. "Then welcome to my halls, Vegeta, Nappa and Raditz. Tell me, are you refreshed? Do you require drinks, food? Time to recover from your journey?"

"No." Vegeta responded. "You know why we are here."

"Do I now?" Said the King, displaying what was, in Raditzs' opinion, insane bravery. "Perhaps it's to do with the contract we signed with Frieza. It expires in some weeks, does it not? Indeed, I would even go far as to guess that you were here to discuss with us the next steps."

"Something like that." Vegeta agreed. "Lord Frieza has found your services most useful in the past."

"I'm sure he has. Are you here to offer us what you offered before? Wealth, riches beyond our imagining, power beyond our comprehension? We have it already, as you saw on your descent. There is nothing more that you can offer."

"Perhaps survival?" Vegeta said, with barely a hint of a threat in his voice. "You know what happens to those who defy Lord Frieza."

"We defy nothing." The King said. "We served our time… did as we were told. Now, the limit is up, and we are free. Choice is ours once more. There's no defiance to that."

"Perhaps as far as you're concerned." Vegeta said. "But the way that Lord Freieza sees it, you're turning your back on him. That would be most...unwise..."

"So unwise he sends Saiyans to negotiate? I'm not blind to the implication of your presence, _Prince_ Vegeta. I know what you are, and what you've done. I could ask how many worlds you've destroyed, but I fear that even you would not know the answer at this point. Frieza has sent his pet monsters to cow us back into submission. To make us sign away our freedom, this time for long. Forever perhaps. It won't work. We are resolved, determined. You can stay for as long as you like, and we shall discuss the issue, as the civilized creatures that we all pretend to be. But you will not sway my mind on this."

"So the death of your people lies so lightly on your conscious?"

"My people mean everything to me, Saiyan! More than you could possibly know! I won't have them enslaved to the will of a tyrant! After all, isn't that exactly where your own people went wrong?"

Vegeta took a step forward. Instantly, the guards closed in, rifles were raised, shouts filled the area. Useless. Vegeta released a blast of power, throwing them all back, and closing on the king. He raised a hand, energy glowing at the tip of his fingers.

"The Saiyans are far superior to your pathetic species. Don't think to dirty our name with your tongue again."

"Superior perhaps." The King growled, looking into Vegeta's eyes, only the slightest twitch betraying the fear he must have been feeling. "But they're dead. All dead. Now, the last of you serve a tyrant. A dying breed serving a monster as though he can help you. As though he ever would. I've seen what became of your kind, and I won't let you do the same thing to us."

Raditz watched, held motionless by the tension of the moment. Vegeta stood with his hand outstretched, glittering power forming a luminous halo about his fingers. The soldiers were also still, lying where they had been thrown by Vegeta's careless blast. They had to know that they had no chance against him. Against any of them. Vegeta had been ordered to cause a minimum of chaos, but it was getting close, and any minute now, someone would fire, and the price would start the killing.

"Enough! Enough!"

A wizened voice cut through the silence as one of the King's entourage stepped forwards. "Please, let's not bog down the occasion with such meaningless arguments, please. It's true that our King has strong opinions, but perhaps the best time to discuss such things is not when our beloved guests have just completed a long journey? After all, anyone can be tired and cranky from such a trip. And starting a fight now will avail no one."

That last line seemed to be directed at the king, and Raditz detected a hint of reproach in it. He grew interested in the figure, who dared to rebuke a king before his own court.

The King nodded, and sighed. Pulling himself together, he lowered his gaze.

"I am sorry. Prince Vegeta. I have...strong convictions when it comes to Frieza. I do not believe that my father was right to sign the contract he did with your master. But I should not take that anger out on you. My words were...ill-chosen… I did not seek to cause offence."

 _Liar._ Raditz thought. _Of course you did. You don't go on like that unless you want to start a fight. Hah. I can see why Frieza's having problems with this place. I can see why he sent us… I wonder would he really care if we burned this city to the ground? He did give those orders, but what can he expect?_

Raditz felt that same sense of being out of his element as he had before, only now, it was directed towards the world of politics. He was a soldier. Always had been. This type of thing was way above his head, but even he knew that there was a chance Frieza had expected them to break his edict when he sent them here.

Was he looking for a reason to turn on them? The chilly thought unnerved him more than he would admit. Raditz had been present when Arkos was bombarded; had seen how Frieza had done it slowly over week. Major cities, then minor cities, then towns and villages. He'd done the same himself, of course. He was a Saiyan, after all.

But later, the rumour had come out that Frieza had known about the Arkosian rebellion before it even struck. That he'd even helped to support it! All just so that he would have the fun of destroying them while they knew that the failing was their own. He didn't just want to kill them, he wanted them to die knowing that if they had only been a bit better, they could have saved themselves.

Was that what was being done here? It wasn't that Frieza needed a reason, he just wanted the Saiyans to cause their own death by breaking with his orders. That way, when the end came, he could look into their faces, and tell them they that had brought it all on themselves.

It sounded _exactly_ like something he would do.

To distract himself from these disturbing thoughts, Raditz looked at the figure who had intervened. He was old, that much was sure. He was clad in loose robes, designed to present an enigmatic image. They were coloured white, with deep red markings which flowed over their surface. Raditz thought that they were letters, or perhaps even whole words, but he was not sure. The hood was pulled up, and the creature was wearing some kind of breathing mask, the sound of its artificial respiration was obvious and loud. Though, it was hard to tell body structure beneath the cloak, it looked thin and bony.

The creature moved slowly, holding up a hand as though to separate the two arguing royalties. His robe slipped for a moment, and Raditz saw green skin. Old and withered, dry as parchment. Not a native, then. His fingers were like bones, so thin and fragile-looking. His flesh was dry, and you could almost trace every muscle and tendon. When he spoke, his voice was cracking, old.

Which meant that, to the surprise of absolutely no one, his power level was actually one of the highest in the group. An old warrior, perhaps? A military adviser? In any case, he'd known to intervene before Prince Vegeta decided to do more than just make threats and warnings.

"I am known as Mo-Fai." The old one said. "I am an adviser here to the king, as I have been for several generations of kings. Please, Prince Vegeta, let my followers guide you and your fellows to your quarters. Tomorrow, we can talk in depth about what Frieza would demand of us, and perhaps try to find an alternative."

"Hmmp. As you wish. But that won't be an easy thing." Vegeta said. "You're endangering your people."

"Do you really care?" Mo-Fair asked.

"No." Vegeta answered honestly. "But the longer we're here, the less we're out there doing _real_ work."

"Well, on that account, Prince Vegeta, I think we can both agree." Mo-Fai said. "We would all be much happier if you were elsewhere… Guards, please show these men to their quarters. Myself and the King will remain here. There are things that must be discussed."

As they were steered away, Raditz glanced backwards once, seeing the old adviser talking earnestly to the king, who looked suitably ashamed. He grinned, and wondered to himself.

 _So, out of the two of you, who really calls the shots?_


	3. Chapter Two: Promises Shared

By bustling attendants, the Saiyans were led through golden-lighted corridors. Interwoven with shafts of softer light coming from the open windows punched every few feet so as to allow the gentle touch of the water-bearing breeze. The walls were not left bare, but were decorated with all manner of artistic expression. Raditz watched them flash by, and to him, each one seemed as pointless as the rest. Tapestries and pictures and paintings of grand scenes of spread-out vistas all seemed pointless to the long-haired Saiyan. A few things he did note with a little bit of approval – here and there, there were old suits of powered armour. Decommissioned and left up as decorations. Sometimes, old weapons were set against the wall. Little touches here and there that reminded a watcher just where they stood.

He approved, he supposed. It had never really been something he was concerned too much about. But being surrounded by the art and the decorations put him ill at ease. Like stepping into a world in which he knew he had no place. He was a warrior, a killer, a soldier. Such things were beyond him, and he was thankful for it.

He frowned, suddenly wondering what his father would have thought of it if he'd said something like that out loud during one of the few times that they had been able to train together. Bardock was hard to predict. Hard to tell what he would say or do, but Raditz suspected he wouldn't have approved. Then again, he was used to not having his father's approval. Even for a pair of Saiyans, the two of them had never exactly been what you could call friends, much less family. Raditz had lived in his father's shadow, always hearing about the great conquests or exploits of the famed Bardock. It was a reputation he'd never been able to measure up to, which had driven him to throw himself against his father in combat again and again, convinced that if he beat him, he'd finally be able to be happy with his position.

Maybe that was even true. He wouldn't know. For all the attempts, Raditz had never beaten Bardock.

The attendants that directed them were hushed, trying to project an air of confidence and calmness when Raditz could practically scent their fear. Compared to a Saiyan, they were small creatures. Slim and child-like. They were no threat, and the fear that they had of brutal reprisal kept their heads bowed and their voices low. Though, knowing places like this, everyone in the palace would know of Vegeta and the King's argument by afternoon.

He shot a look to Nappa, and the bald Saiyan gave a slight nod, and grinned back at him. The two of them enjoying the Erashans' fear.

At last, they came to a room which would be their own. The metal door slid open, revealing a plush interior. Rich red carpets, soft beds, and windows looking out over the city.

"This is the quarters often afforded to ambassadors from off-world." One of the attendants said. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. The King will send for you in the morning and the negotiations will begin. In the meantime, there will be food delivered in two hours, and all the utilities in these rooms are yours to do with as you please."

"Is that so?" Nappa smirked down at her. "Well, aren't we the lucky ones?"

With a barely perceptible shudder, she moved, stepping backwards as the door closed with a mechanical hiss, leaving the three Saiyans to their own devices.

"Think it's bugged?" Nappa asked, striding over to a low-spread settee, rich in velvet upholstery. It groaned as the Saiyan threw himself down upon it.

"The room?" Vegeta responded, his face unreadable. "Probably. But that doesn't matter. They can't do anything to us anyway. Did you see their fear? Every moment we're here, they know we could kill them all."

"We're not supposed to." Nappa pointed out. "Frieza told us-"

"I know what we were told." Vegeta snapped, his temper surfacing again as he strode to the window overlooking the city. "I remember it well enough, Nappa."

"Apologies, my prince. I did not mean to offend."

Vegeta sighed.

"You didn't. I should not have been so harsh." Raditz was impressed. Coming from Vegeta, that was about as close to an apology as it got. "I am simply annoyed. Annoyed by this world, by these people, and more than that, annoyed with why Frieza chose to send us here. This isn't the work of Saiyans. If he told us to kill this place, I'd do it in an instant. If he told us to cow it back into submission, we could do that too. But to negotiate? It doesn't fit. It doesn't fit at all."

"I was wondering about that myself." Nappa admitted. "When was the last time that anyone heard about Frieza asking nicely about anything…?"

"It's not exactly asking nicely." Raditz spoke up. "You know what he means by sending us. We're a threat all by yourselves."

"Still, that doesn't mean that he couldn't have done it better." Nappa frowned. "I don't understand."

"I was thinking..." Raditz said tentatively, "Could it be something like with the Arkosians?"

"Don't be stupid." Vegeta scowled. "The Arkosians were a different matter. Frieza has sent us here because he's playing at some game. The latest in a long line of them. What we can do now is see to it that we don't fail him. I'll bring this world to heel. Did you see the towers as we came in, Nappa?"

"Defensive batteries." The big Saiyan said instantly. "We ran into something like them on Kiilos."

"I remember." Vegeta said. "They cost Frieza a lot of soldiers before we blew them to hell. We could be looking at a repeat incident."

"Prince Vegeta...those batteries..."

"They're not a threat to us." Vegeta snapped. "Don't be foolish, Nappa. They have power, but they're slow to fire, and as an Oozaru, either one of us could crush this whole world."

Nappa frowned, but said nothing. Raditz turned away, though he knew the words that the bald Saiyan wanted to say.

'' _And you should not become complacent, my prince.''_

He didn't understand the dynamic between Nappa and Vegeta. Didn't get it at all. He was the newcomer, even though Nappa had warmed to him, Vegeta simply seemed to regard him as a pest to be ignored. After the battle with the Arkosians, when he had lost his tail, Raditz honestly half expected that Vegeta would kill him. Even being one of the last remaining Saiyans didn't seem to protect one from the Prince's wrath, and why would it? They were dead as a race already.

"What do we do now?" He asked at last. "Do we just sit here and talk for days or weeks? Maybe even months?"

"Not a pleasant prospect." Nappa admitted with a grimace. "So much talking, and not even a decent fight… maybe Frieza is trying to bore us to death?"

"It won't be months." Vegeta said. "I doubt it will even be weeks. I'll deal with it. You two are just here to look tough and watch my back. That's your job, Nappa. This world has a high tech level, I wouldn't be surprised if someone tried something."

"It would be the last thing they did." Nappa promised.

"I know that. But I don't want the bother. I'll force this king back into line, and you make sure that nothing distracts me. As for you, Raditz. I'm going to try and arrange a tour of the city for you."

"Wait, what? Prince Vegeta, why would I be interested in anything like that?"

"You're not, of course. But I want some eyes on the ground. We saw those batteries as we came in. There's probably more we're not seeing. I'm tied up here. Nappa is needed at my side. You...you're not currently weighed down with any duties."

 _In other words,_ Raditz thought to himself bitterly. _I'm expendable._

Vegeta knew he knew it as well. But those eyes had no room for pity, and certainly didn't care about him simply by some shared genetic legacy. Same species or not, Raditz was nothing to Vegeta, and the prince didn't intend to ever let him forget that.

Still, there was nothing that could be done about it. He lowered his head, his eyes on the floor.

"As you wish, Prince Vegeta."

"Good." Vegeta said. "I do. You'll go out tomorrow. Slip whatever handlers you're given, and bring me back some solid information on the city."

* * *

Raditz had left the room, moving to the bed chambers where he would try to get some sleep. The trip here had been a long one, and no one really was ever able to truly rest in a space pod. Once he was sure that the younger Saiyan was away, Nappa turned to Vegeta.

"My prince..." Hesitantly, unsure how to proceed, he plunged on before he could change his mind. "You're hard on him… he doesn't deserve-"

"Nappa. Don't." Vegeta said. "Raditz is a project. One that you've taken on for some reason. I spared his life as per your request when he lost his tail, but that's all I'm extending. If he's going to be useful, he'll need to prove it himself. Personally, I just think he'll get himself killed."

"As you wish." Nappa said, his face carefully set. "I can't argue. What are the plans for tomorrow?"

"While Raditz is out, the two of us will likely be in the meeting. I'll do the talking. I want you to look around, and see what you can find out about those that the king brings with him. Someone as weak as that, he'll have guards. Some might be dangerous. I'll do what I can to spot them myself, but my attention will be on the talk. And as I said before, you're to keep some fool from distracting me with an attempt on my life. I want to give Frieza no chance to say that we botched this."

"So you do think it came down to that? Like with the Arkosians?"

Vegeta sighed deeply, returning his gaze to the window.

"I don't know, Nappa. I don't know. I can't rule out that chance, though. We can't fail. Frieza sent us here expecting those Saiyan beasts to end up inciting a revolution or burning the planet. Then, he steps in, takes in survivors, recovers technology, and kills us all as examples of what happens when someone breaks his rules. It's possible."

"He's trying to kill us. You know he is."

"He's been trying to do it for years. He fears us, Nappa. Fears what we may become. The power we can wield… the legend..."

"A Super Saiyan." Nappa breathed, even the words seeming close to treason to him. If Frieza even knew that they held out hope…

"Yes. The Super Saiyan. I have to keep us alive., Frieza is playing a game. But so long as he _is_ playing that game, he's not treating us seriously. Our world was destroyed by him, you know that?"

"I know." Napa growled, his hands curling into fists, a sneer of disgust in his voice. "I know."

"Then you know why we can't afford to fail. Our people, our legacy, everything we are comes down to this. We can make the legend real, but we need to survive long enough. That's why I need you to cover my back here. It's possible Frieza sent us simply to negotiate… or perhaps he's trying to set up an assassination. If that's the case, I'll need you more than ever."

"You don't need to ask." Nappa replied. "I served your father, and I serve you the same way. I'd die before I let them touch you."

"Hmm. I don't need your protection like that, Nappa. I'm a warrior-prince, the last of my line. Still, you're resolute and powerful. We'll need that in the days ahead. I don't know how far this game will go, or how long it will take for us to reach our goals. I need to become strong, Nappa. Stronger than any Saiyan ever has been."

"Not alone, my prince." Nappa said as firmly as he dared. "I am at your side, and Raditz as well… I know you think he's weak, but his father was Bardock, and when he fought the Arkosians, he did so as a true Saiyan. I watched and fought beside him. There's more to him than a simple weakling. You'll see. Just remember that you do not need to fight alone."

"Ah, Nappa." Vegeta replied, not turning from the window. "I am always alone."

* * *

It was some hours later, and in his private quarters, the king was sitting upon his throne. One copy of the throne, anyway. According to tradition, there would be one throne in any place his authority was expected to be exerted. One in the meeting chambers, one in the throne room. One in his own quarters, and numerous others throughout the palace. Some of them hadn't been used since the time of his father.

His father….

What a fool.

What an absolutely spectacular fool.

King Era-Sha gave a long, tired breath. He was old by the standards of his people, but there were many long years left to his rule, if fortune was kind. His own son would not be ready to inherit for a decade yet, and he hoped when that time came, and his son took on the holy name, he would not look back on his father with the same kind of venom that Era-Sha felt for his own.

What kind of fool thought that you could appease a ravening wolf by feeding it meat? All that happened was that it would come to you again and again, demanding more each time. Eventually, it would decide to take it by force, and by then, you would be spent and tired. Easy prey. Submission was weakness, and weakness was death when dealing with predators of all kinds.

Thanks to his weakness, his father had plunged his people into this situation, and now it fell to him to extract them from it, if he could.

He had to control himself better. It had almost come to blows on the landing pad. Prince Vegeta… what a foolish title. Royalty meant more than that. It was the duty of a royal to safeguard his people, that's what the title was for. You were watcher, protector, guardian. All these things and more. It was duty, not privilege.

That was what his father had failed to see. He'd betrayed their people, all for money and gain, and the favour of a tyrant.

Era-Sha sighed. He felt far older than he was just now.

The door opened, a figure stepped through. Bereft of his armour, Roran was not so dissimilar to the Erashans. Though, the colour of his skin was paler, and his musculature was subtly different. Still, the Saiyans had probably not noticed such things, especially not when their focus was on the king and his guard.

No one looked to the musicians in the back. Roran still wore the uniform of a music-maker, though he had discarded his instrument. His hair was as pale as his skin, cut close to his skull. His skin was withered and aged, and even from here, the king could see that he was scarred.

He moved with purpose. With strength, and clarity. Striding into the room of a king without a thought to the potential danger he would be placing himself in. Era-Sha liked him. Liked him for his base honesty, and the fact that he'd devoted so much of his life to hunting down monsters like the Saiyans. He was sure that there was a story behind that. A reason. A man of Roran's skills didn't dedicate his life to bounty hunting if he had other options. Roran wasn't some ex-soldier. He was smart, could work with machines better than most engineers. He could have found a high paying job anywhere in the sector, with promotion in a matter of years. Hell, Era-Sha would have hired him himself if he thought for a moment that the white-haired alien would abandon his one-man crusade.

"You called for me, sire?" He said, stepping into the room. He caught sight of Era-Sha, and dropped to one knee. The King waved.

"Enough. Enough, my friend. You don't need to bow to me. You're not one of my people, and besides, we both know I don't like it. People bobbing up and down all day, it's enough to make me seasick."

Roran grinned, and rose to his feet.

"As you wish." He said.

"Out of curiosity." The King said. "Your armour…?"

"Not in the palace." Roran responded. "I have a safehouse in the city. It's protected. I'm sorry, I don't mean to imply that your people would steal it, but it's a relic of a time long ago. There aren't very many suits left like it. It's valuable."

"It's fine." The King said. "I of all know what it is to safeguard something left to you by others."

"You know?"

"I can guess." Era-Sha chuckled. "You're not a man who holds onto things lightly. So something that you do hold onto must have some personal value to you. You don't care for money. Can I ask what it is to you?"

Roranb frowned for a moment, and then spoke.

"It's a legacy. The last of its kind, as I am the last of mine."

"I see. It was the Saiyans?"

"You don't need to ask."

"No. you've just given me the answer."

A heavy silence filled the room.

"You called me here for a reason." Roran said at last. "And you wanted me to watch their arrival too, but disguised. I take it you want my opinion on them?"

"Yes. Your opinion. How you would talk to them. How you would convince them to leave us alone and, if we can't do that, how you would kill them."

"Killing them will do nothing. Frieza will send more."

"Let him. It buys time. Time for us to scatter. Our world may die, but our people will live."

"Frieza will hunt you. He's ruthless. Remorseless."

"You speak with experience?"

"I worked for him once...just once. It left an impression."

"Still, a hunted life is better than none. What can you tell me of the Saiyans?"

Roran took a deep breath.

"Well, where can I start? Each one of them is powerful and experienced… that's not a good combination. Mostly, I hunt ferals. The ones sent off-world when they were young. Those ones often won't have mastered their powers, they can be tricked. These ones? Not so lucky. They know their powers, and they've trained with them against equal foes. I can't bring them down with the tricks I'd use on another target. Worse even than that, did you catch the names that they gave?"

"Yes. Vegeta, Raditz and Nappa. Do you make anything of the other two?"

"Raditz is no one." Roran said. "His name means nothing to me, but I know of Nappa. He served as a high general, and as a direct assistant to their King himself. His history is impressive… loyal bodyguard, elite soldier… world killer, genocides of hundreds of species. He killed his own son, did you know?"

"No, I didn't. What did the boy do?"

"I don't know. It's not in the records. But he died at Nappa's hands."

"You're not bringing me good news here, Roran."

"I wish I had better to give you, sire. What of Mo-Fai? Does he have anything to offer?"

"I told him not to attend." Era-Sha admitted. "My most senior adviser is...politically dangerous at the moment."

"You fear a coup?"

"No." Era-Sha laughed. "Mo-Fai is many things, but he is loyal. The problem is that he was loyal to my father as well, and supported his views. Views that endangered this world… when it comes to this subject, let us simply say that Mo-Fai is not a voice of reason. So it falls to you and I. Tell me something good. Tell me that you can kill these three if it comes down to it?"

Roran was quiet, collecting his thoughts, then he answered.

"I don't know, and that's the truth, my lord. Raditz...well, he's strong. But I've dealt with Saiyans of that level before. It's a knock down fight, and it usually hurts both of us, but I've always won in the end. With the help of your forces and the defences of your city, I dare say I could kill him in a straight fight, but the damage would be high. Nappa, on the other hand, is of the elite class. I've never tangled with one of those before, but my armour has some records and they aren't pretty. This class of armour was made to fight Saiyans. But to kill an elite, at least twenty suits were said to be required."

"Twenty suits like yours?"

Roran grimaced.

"No." He said. "Twenty suits like my one used to be. Back when it had spare parts, regular maintenance, and access to the most advanced weapons."

"So we have no chance then." Era-Sha said as a feeling of crushing powerlessness descended on him. "We really are going to be forced to bow to Frieza again or be destroyed."

"That's not assured just yet." Roran said. "Don't despair. I have a plan. I said that I could probably not win against him in a straight up fight, but there are other methods...darker methods. Poison, for instance. Saiyans are hard to poison – something about their biology – but they are not outright immune. Certain chemicals work to slow them, or kill them outright. The problem is that effects can be unpredictable. Likewise, with control of a situation, I can set up an ambush, my weapon set to full power can theoretically burn through an elite just as easily as a lower class Saiyan. I just need access to an external source of energy great enough."

"You'll have it." The King promised. "Anything you need. Just please, help me to keep my world free. Frieza has sent these monsters to tear us down again. To fill us with fear. I can't let that happen. Under my father, I watched it all. Watched as we slowly stopped being ourselves, as Frieza's evil twisted us from within. He forced us to become part of his empire, but by the end, we almost enjoyed it, do you know? We had money and power, as though those were the only things that mattered. We nearly lost our souls. If we're forced under a second time, there will be no escape. Whether we can kill them or not… I won't let them force us back to slavery. Find me a way to kill them, Roran. So that if it comes down down to it, if they truly are not willing to allow us to escape, I can at least buy us some time to prepare for the end."

"I will try, my lord." Roran said, meeting the king's gaze with his own. "I will try."


	4. Chapter Three: Machinations

He was one of many attendants who serviced the king and the palace. There were thousands like him, clad in the same uniform of golden stitching over red fabric, the sacred water plant pinned to his chest. His hair cut back short, and his face carefully schooled into an expression of calm disinterest. He'd served for twenty years, but the King and his court would have had difficulty picking him out of a lineup. His face was generic, aggressively average. There was nothing to distance him from anyone else, so long as he didn't go out of his way to stand out.

He could be anyone. Any one of thousands of bustling servants and attendants, could go where he wanted without fear of censure. It was a privilege that he had made use of before, and that he was now making use of again.

The many towers of the palace-building rose up together, striving towards the sun, even as the water cascaded down their sides. It was all so very symbolic and dramatic, but because practical concerns were a thing as well, each tower had an elevator which went all the way to the top, or all the way to the bottom. They were hidden, of course. Current thinking being that elevators made one unfit and weak of mind. Lazy. But servants were servants, and he knew where they were, and he had the codes to access them.

He was there now. Carefully nudging a painted tapestry of the Othmurk rebellion to the side to reveal a sliding door. He looked around once to be sure that he was alone, and stepped through. The tapestry fell back into place.

The interior of the elevator was bare metal, little expense had been given over to it. Just enough to be sure that it didn't crash and burn upon use. To the side of the door, there was a panel, and a series of numbered buttons. Each represented a floor, and there was one for each level from the ground to the highest point in the tower.

There was more too, if you knew how to look.

He slid a keycard out of his pocket, and swiped it across the sensor-plate. There was a moment of tension, as he wondered if he'd be caught. So far, he'd done nothing that was technically illegal, but he wasn't supposed to have _that_ code. It could be dangerous to be caught with it. He'd be dismissed for sure, and he couldn't afford that. Not when he had already come so very far.

He relaxed when he heard the machine chime once, and then the buttons started to go dark, save for one. The bottom floor. It glowed softly green, the only one now active.

He pressed it. The elevator started to descend. He had a few minutes.

He wished there was a mirror, so he could look at himself. He disliked appearing before the master garbed as a servant, but there was little that he could do about it now. He'd been charged with a mission, and now he was returning to report what he had learned.

There was one thing, he had to do before the elevator doors swung open. He reached into the pocket of his uniform, and unfolded a tangled ball of fabric. Uncurling it revealed that it was a blindfold, which he quickly drew across his face. The strap bit into the back of his head, and he adjusted it until he could see nothing.

Blackness. Darkness. All around him. Once, it would have been a thing of fear, but the master had taught him better than that. He took a deep breath, stretched out his senses, and saw without his eyes.

The door slide open.

It was time to go.

* * *

Raditz stood with his arms crossed as his guide babbled on about something or other. He wasn't paying much attention to the tanned native, too focused on other things. For three hours now, he'd stalked the oddly deserted streets (Hah. Who would have thought? Someone must have sent out a warning.) and he'd found absolutely nothing of consequence. The sun beat down on him unpleasantly, and he kept feeling phantom pain where his tail used to be. To put it shortly, he was bored, annoyed, and not much in the mood for what was obviously a very carefully guided tour.

"-And this building." The guide went on, unaware of Raditz's internal debate as to the pros and cons of sudden death, "was once the home of a guild of sorcerers said to be founders of the city. According to legend, they summoned the waters from the very air itself, and were the reason that this city was able to grow as it did." She laughed slightly, a very civilized gesture, meant to put people at their ease, he was sure. "Of course, in modern days, the whole thing is considered to be more likely an allegory, and the people who dwelt here were traders who helped to bring goods and funds into the infant city. But then, I suppose that ''magic'' is so much more daring than ''economics'' when it comes to making history."

"Doesn't seem much." He said. The building was squat, heavy with a tower rising from the roof which was eclipsed by those buildings beside and near it. It was evidently old, and even the golden-brickwork that made up its surface seemed tarnished and faded.

"At the time, this building was the height of fashion." His guide told him. "That was long ago, of course. We keep it up as a reminder of the past. It's important not to forget where you came from. Let's move on, did you want to visit the market district next?"

Raditz rolled his eyes.

 _Want to? Not really. You've been talking my ear off for hours now and I've not found anything interesting at all. Problem is, if I go back and the tell the prince that, it's likely I'll get my ass kicked._

He fixed the best false smile he could.

"That sounds _absolutely_ delightful."

* * *

The markets district was at least marginally more interesting. It was a big place, with hundreds of stalls and shops, and even the forewarning of the presence of a Saiyan did not seem to be enough to clear it out. There were thousands present, their murmuring a constant, steady rumble. Broken by the sharp shouts of the merchants advertising their wares. There were many things; he could smell food, tantalisingly cooked with alien spices that made his stomach rumble. Reminding him that he had not had proper food for some weeks – the stuff given out at the palace had been weak, hardly food at all. Just the sort of thing you'd give to alien guests you didn't much like.

Food wasn't all of it though. From where he stood, he could see stalls selling clothes, ornaments, tools, twisting bits of metal whose purpose he didn't understand. None of them seemed to be without customers either, and people thronged around them, talking and chatting. Around him, a thousand purchases were made, people met and intermingled. There was laughter, and shouting, and angry screaming as well in places.

It was the feel of a lived in place, and Raditz realised that it had been a very long time since he had experienced it for himself. Between stays on the ship, and missions for Frieza, when was the last time he'd visited somewhere just for the hell of it?

Though, many people were ignored as they went about their business, he wasn't one of them. As soon as they caught sight of him, the crowd took on a different edge, clearing space for him to walk almost without even seeming to try. Wherever he went just happened to be empty, and he felt the fear in their eyes, and the tightness of their expressions. The whispering took on a different tone as well.

'' _Saiyan.''_ They said, obviously not knowing that a Saiyan's senses tended to be just slightly better than average. _''Saiyans...what are those monsters doing here? They'll kill us all if we're not careful...Did you hear what they did at Dovonor?…utter monsters….serve Frieza….''_

His guide blanched, her confident expression starting to show cracks as the reaction of the crowd obviously was more than she had expected. Perhaps she'd wanted to hide him in their sheer number? Hah, if so, it was a mistake. No one ever failed to notice a Saiyan.

"Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea..." She said uncertainly. "Maybe we should go?"

"Nonsense!" Raditz smirked, enjoying her discomfort, and the fear of the crowd in equal amount. "I was told that I could go where I wanted, are you telling me that this crowd could possibly present a danger?"

"Well..." She said dithered, torn between admitting the danger, and trying to project the image she had doubtless been ordered to. "There are some things in the past..."

"That we've done? Well, yes, we have killed some worlds now you mention it. But look on the bright side, your one probably isn't going to be one of them."

He stalked over to one of the stalls, just to see how far he could push things. He felt the tension in the crowd, the fear and the anger directed at him. Of course, he was in no danger. Not a single one of them was equal to even a third-class warrior. He could kill them all if he so desired. Technically now, he was under orders not to. But even more technically, if they started it first, he couldn't be blamed for defending himself. Especially if he kept the guide alive so that she could back up his story later.

"What are these things?" He said, looking down at the items being sold. They were those twisted metal objects. There seemed to be no uniform shape to them, some were circular, some were bent at odd angles, and all of them had the look of something hand-crafted by someone who had perhaps tragically lost several fingers in the process.

The poor stall owner didn't know how to react. The crowd was mulling and shifting. Most pretended to go about their business, trying their best to ignore him, but a significant number weren't even doing that. Intently watching as though they hoped for a chance to strike against the monstrous Saiyan.

In the end, the owner decided to just pretend it was like any other customer.

"These are the finest charms." He said, his voice tight with anxiety. "Made by the finest magicians… guaranteed to ward off evil or harm."

"Magic?" Raditz said, glancing back towards the flustered guide. "I thought you said that you people didn't believe in that anymore? You called it an allegory?"

"Most of us don't." The guide said, her gaze still half on the crowd. "There are some of us who still have a belief. It's growing less and less powerful in the face of proper logic, and the King has put into place a program intended to teach proper thinking in schools to discourage it, but it's still strong in some segments of the population."

Raditz turned to the store-keeper.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Sir? I don't understand….?"

"You said that these charms are supposed to ward off danger, right? Turn aside harm? Make it so that you're protected if you're near one of them?"

"That's right." The shopkeeper gulped. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Raditz's shadow towered over him, and he couldn't help but notice the muscular, powerful, and above all else, _lethal_ presence that was the Saiyan.

"So, do you think they actually work?"

"Hoping like hell they do, sir."

The murmuring of the crowd was broken by a sudden, loud noise, and the guide jumped. Spinning around, expecting an attack. She flushed with embarrassment when she realised that it had been Raditz's laughter.

"Good answer." Raditz chuckled. "Good answer. Well, in that case, I'll be taking one of them."

"Of course."

Naturally, there was no offer of payment, nor was there much of an expectation of it. The shopkeeper handed Raditz one of the metal wards, and he turned it over curiously. Then, he stepped away from the stall, the guide following in his wake.

The shopkeeper breathed a sigh of relief. Today wasn't his day to die after all.

* * *

Mo-Fai did not live in the palace, unlike most of the royal court. He was technically a noble, so it was within his purview to do so. However, he was also an alien, and as such, was always the outsider when it came to local politics. True, he'd dwelt on this world for longer than the current generation had been alive, but he looked different, and if that wasn't enough, there was always this sense about Mo-Fai. As though he were measuring you up, and you never quite seemed to meet his expectations.

No, he dwelt under the palace instead. Where there were miles of tunnels and warrens, and machine-rooms, and store houses that had been filled and then forgotten. It was said that the Palace of the Eternal King was like a plant, and that for every inch of it that rose into the air, there were three inches that spread underground.

Few could remember now why or how Mo-Fao had gained permission to dwell in that place. He was older than everyone, and so, most simply assumed that he had always been there. Those who bothered to check into did in fact find that he had been granted the space by some ancient king or other. There was never any question of getting rid of him, he was too important. He'd existed a long time, and even if it was only be default, he'd become something of a bedrock for the palace and the people who dwelt within. Mo-Fai was so old that death had forgotten about him, they would joke. Or maybe he actually _was_ death, and he'd retired. His replacement was too afraid to get a lecture to come and take his soul now.

There were many such jokes about Mo-Fai. He allowed them. They made him smile behind the metal plate of his breathing mask. His lungs were old, you see, and quite feeble. He couldn't go anywhere without the mask, but even with the mask, it was becoming a challenge.

This was because as much as the palace liked to joke about his evident immortality, it was not the case.

Mo-Fai was coming close to the end of his life.

He sat now in his life-support throne. Plugs and wires ran from it and into his body, flushing his blood, and pumping him full of drugs to stimulate cell reproduction, to give him back the image of youth and strength for a short time. It was a harsh treatment, but Mo-Fai came from a sturdy race. Even in his last days, he had more than enough stamina for it. Besides, he had no choice. If he didn't do it, he'd have died long ago. As it was, it allowed him to push the time of ending a little bit further into the future with each treatment.

Of course, even he had his limits. And those loaned periods of youth were getting shorter and shorter.

It was dark in the room. The light hurt his eyes nowadays, and he preferred to do his work in shadow. His eyes were closed, half-immersed in a dream of better days. The only sounds were his own mechanical whine, and the gurgling of the pipes. The pain of his body was far away for now, and he was remembering the glories of the ancient past.

So long ago now, when he'd been young and strong. When it seemed that he and his brethren could reach out across the stars and do anything. Of course, they'd never really achieved their true goal, and one by one, their numbers had fallen.

For all he knew, he was the last of their kind.

Was that why he fought so hard against the embrace of death? In his youth, the elders had told him that such things were unseemly. That death was to be accepted, a graceful end to a proper life. Fools. All of them. It was one thing to say those words, quite another to believe them when every beat of his heart might be his last. When his own lungs threatened to kill him if he ever removed this cursed mask, and when each and every day, he felt himself fading a little bit more.

Accept death? Never. He'd fight it. Had fought it. Had fought it for so long. But it wasn't a battle he could win. It was one of endurance, an endless struggle in which he was doomed to be ultimately overcome.

Or at least, that had been his thinking once upon a time.

His head moved. A sudden sense of a presence wrenching him from the warm memories of the past. Back in the present, the pain clamped down again. He ignored it. Moments later, the door slid open. It was still absolutely dark, but Mo-Fai could sense the Ki of one of his followers.

"Why have you come?" He asked bluntly.

The man dropped to one knee, spreading his arms in a gesture of submission.

"Master. I apologise for disturbing your rest. But you wished to know the results of the meeting between King Er-Sha and the Saiyans?"

"That's true. I did. What can you tell me?"

"So far, things remain in a deadlock, my lord. The King refuses to bend to Frieza's demands, and the Saiyan Prince doesn't wish to allow him to dictate alternative terms. Of course, it's merely the first day, so that is to be expected. Still, the Saiyan situation has focused his attention almost entirely."

"Good." Mo-Fai said. "That is what I hoped would happen. Gather the others. We'll hold council tonight."

The man's Ki shivered for a moment, as though in fear, but there was no tremor to his voice. "Yes, my lord. If I may ask, who is the target?"

"You think that I would target the Saiyans?"

"My lord, it is not my place to _think_ anything. I merely do."

"That is correct. Nevertheless, you wonder?"

"If...if I am permitted to wonder."

"In this case, I will allow it. No, the Saiyans are not the target. There will be no target tonight. I have...other concerns… But it will be costly. Be sure to inform the others. There may be deaths."

* * *

The side-street was hardly the bustling throng that the marketplace had been, but Raditz found himself thankful for that. Though, initially, the crowded market had been an interesting novelty, it had quickly worn thin for the Saiyan. The murmuring had grown bothersome, and each face was simply someone that he was not allowed to kill. So he'd taken his leave, the guide following in his wake. He took a certain amount of pleasure from how he'd turned things around from before. He was now going where he pleased, and she was the one with little ability to object or to come keep.

Not that he was enjoying himself so much he forget his mission, of course. From the market, he'd spied one of the large towers that they reckoned to be defence batteries, and now he was drawing a circuitous route towards it. Already, it loomed in the distance, casting a shadow over the small street. It was larger than any of the other buildings to its side, and though it was overgrown with some form of climbing plant, flowering bright red, and fed by a stream of water that cascaded and rolled from the top of the structure, he was already seeing suspicious holes in the side of the building where cannons might just lurk.

He just needed an excuse to get closer.

"Saiyan!" He heard, turning to look for the guide, who was hurrying to catch up with him. "We shouldn't be here! This part of the city is not safe!"

"I'm sure." Raditz said. "Now, what's the real reason?"

"I'm not allowed to show you this part of the city."

"Of course not. But you don't have much of a choice. I go where I want."

"That's not fair!"

"Fairness doesn't come into it either. Did you really think that I'd be a nice boy and do what I was told?"

"That's not… I mean, that's…."

Radits grinned, seeing how her face clouded with anger and shock at his refusal to do what she wanted. Really, had she expected a Saiyan of all things to play nice?

"Here." He tossed something to her, and she snatched it out of the air. Gazing in confusion at the talisman he'd ''bought''. "You're giving this to me…?"

"Don't think too hard on it. You're probably going to need it in a second."

"And why is that?"

"Because we've been followed."

She blanched, looking around as though expecting to see an army on their tail. Fear coloured her face, and she stepped back.

"It must be someone from the market. I knew going there was a bad idea. There are many aliens in that sector...your kind is not well liked. This could be bad."

"For them. Just stay behind me, okay? I haven't had any fun in ages."

There was a low sound of clapping, and a figure emerged from the darkness of the shadow of the suspected battery. He'd been hiding behind two buildings, and as he stepped into the light, Raditz felt a savage grin split his face.

"Well, well, well." He said. "And here I thought this fight would be boring. An Arkosian here… one of the last free ones?"

"I know what you did to my people, Saiyan." The creature hissed. "Word is, you and yours were the ones that helped Frieza to burn my world."

"Well, I can't take all the credit. You did a lot of the work yourself."

The creature snarled, unfolding itself slowly as it rose up to its full height. It was taller than him, most Arkosians were. They were an insectoid race, roughly humanoid in proportion, but coated in a natural chitinous armour. Their hands were tipped with razor claws, and they had four to six arms, depending on cast. Some had wings too, but this one did not. It did have large compound eyes, though. And a sleek, predatory face, sculpted to resemble some ancient hunter. Raditz didn't know too much about them, but he pegged it as a warrior class, which made it even rarer.

Outwardly, Raditz flashed with confidence, he felt the adrenaline surging through his body, his blood singing in anticipation of a much better fight than he had expected to face here.

Inwardly though, it was slightly different. The last time he'd faced an Arkosian, it had been a member of the Royal cast, and it had torn off his tail, and beat him to a bloody pulp. A warrior wouldn't nearly be as tough.

But this time, he wouldn't have Nappa here to back him up either.

Thoughts of running were idly considered, and quickly dismissed. As he'd be the firs to say, even if his pride was not the same as an elite like Vegeta or Nappa, Raditz was a Saiyan. He couldn't, and wouldn't run from a fight.

Besides, this was the best chance he'd gotten to let loose since he lost his tail. A big part of him was wondering if he didn't need to fight it out, just to see if he really as much weaker as he felt at times.

"So." Raditz said. "We could do all the wishy-washy speech making about how we don't need to fight, but both of us know we will anyway. Shall we just get started."

"Good idea." The alien said. "I'll pay you back for the blood you've spilled!"

"Get in line!"

The two warriors lunged at each other, and the silence was broken by the shrill cry of a terrified native guide.

* * *

AN: So, it's been three chapters now, and while we get a fairly steady stream of hits for the story, we don't really seem to get that many reviews. We have two for the first chapter, and one of those is frankly spam. It makes writing this a bit difficult, if I don't know that it is being received well. So I am going to ask you to leave a review if you have actually enjoyed this work. if people aren't liking it, there is little reason to continue this story when I can spend time writing something people _do_ like. But as I said, I do get a stream of actual hits from chapter to chapter, so I need something of a tie breaker here. If you like the story, please tell me so. Otherwise, it is starting to feel like I am shouting into an empty void.


	5. Chapter Four: Growing Peril

Roran moved slowly. Inch by inch;. His armour read-outs showing him exactly how far he was from the ground. For a moment, his foot dangled, and he was held aloft by one hand only. His gauntlets gripping tightly to the metal scaffolding which enfolded the building. Then, his foot found purchase, and he continued his climb. The building was new; one of many given the expansion of the city in response to the King's reign. Population was booming, and new buildings being raised almost as fast as they could be populated. This one wasn't quite finished yet, and the scaffolding made for a useful place to climb and conceal himself. The roof beaconed to him, and he knew that he could move much more quickly if he only gave up on the element of stealth. Instead, he continued his slow climb, telling himself that he was almost to the top now.

He was wearing his helmet again. It was crudely repaired, and still bore the scars of the Saiyan's attack which had crushed it before. Using what little machinery he still had available to him, he'd managed to reconstruct the internal support, and saved most of the circuitry, though it was still vaguely misshapen, at least it worked again. He saw the world through a haze of green, numbers scrolling past his eyes. Distracting once, but now comforting. He could pick out information from that stream of numbers with absurd ease, and it assured him that his armour was operating at peak efficiency despite the scars it bore. Or at least, it was operating at what passed for peak effecincy nowadays. He felt a pang of sorrow, remembering the time before when this armour would have been standard issue rather than one of a kind.

A long time ago now, and not something he particularly liked to look back on. He focused on the climb to blot out the memories. His muscles were old, but assisted by the armour, he was able to make the ascent easily enough. The sensation of power afforded to him by his suit was always amazing, always something that he longed to return to when he was away from it. He wondered if it was addictive, but then, it didn't really matter very much in the grand scheme of things, he supposed. When wearing the suit, he was strong, fast and powerful. Outside of it, he was just an old man with his best days behind him.

No wonder he preferred to watch the world through the green vision of his helmet visor.

 _You should have stopped a long time ago, old man._ He thought to himself as his probing fingers found another handhold, hauling himself further upwards. The sentiment was a common one, but not one that he really ever did much more than mutter about. After all, even if he stopped, what would he do after that? Settle down? Raise a family? Find a home?

He grinned tightly under the helmet, more a scowl than an expression of mirth really. No, those things weren't for him. He'd had them once, and they'd been taken away. What else was there but to do as he was doing right now? It was all he was good for in the end.

He reached the top of the roof at last, finding that it was a flat structure, with a downwards pointing skirt. He slithered now, still moving on his belly, like a snake. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck as he moved, the sound of the fight was already reverberating through the alley. He paused at the apex of the roof, gazing down at the warriors. The long-haired Saiyan was duelling with another alien, an Arkosian, if he was any judge. He could see the battle was growing intense, the guide that had been sent out with the Saiyan was cowering in the corner.

Hmm. Typical Saiyan. Couldn't go five minutes without a fight. He didn't know who'd started it, and he really didn't care very much. All that mattered was that it was happening at all, that it gave him his excuse.

With that thought in mind, he reached over his shoulder, and undid the magnetic clamps securing his rifle to the spine of his armour, drawing it forth in one smooth, practised motion. He ignored the scoop, linking it instead directly to the CPU of his armour, and slaving that information feed into his helmet. New numbers scrolled across his vision as power was diverted to the rifle's systems, passing through a thick cable which connected it to his back and arms. Of course, this Saiyan was much stronger than the one he'd killed before, and he doubted his ability to take him with one shot even with a full power alpha strike. But it occurred to Roran that he didn't have to _kill_ the Saiyan here to win. One powerful shot to the chest would crack his armour, break his guard and throw off his timing. The Arkosian was fighting to kill, it would do the rest.

So easy. So simple. One shot fired, one less Saiyan in the universe. His finger pressed against the trigger of the rifle, tactile sensation transferred from the armoured exterior so it felt like he was hugging it with his bare skin.

 **Confirm target…?**

He hesitated for a moment. All he needed to do was to pull the trigger, and he could kill the Saiyan. His blood was up, and he could hear the screaming in his ears of a thousand species damned to extinction by their primitive ways. He could taste acrid hatred in his throat, and he licked his lips at the thought of the look of shock on the Saiyan's face as the attack landed, soon to turn to pain and fear when the Arkosian dealt the mortal blow.

He could kill him now. He could reduce the three to two, practically save the world a lot of work, probably give the natives a better chance of things went wrong. He just had to pull the trigger, he just had to flex his finger.

" _It's a trick." He'd said. "It's obviously a trick. I doubt any Saiyan would be interested in that."_

 _it was some hours earlier, when Roran had stood before the throne again, and spoken once more with Era-Sha, the ruler of this planet._

" _I agree." Era-Sha had said grimly, his hand resting on his chin, his eyes deep with worry and thought. "I can't think of anyone reason any Saiyan would want to go on a tour of my city that I particularly like. However, the prince Vegeta has requested it, and I'm not exactly in a position to turn it down without sacrificing clout in the negotiation. It would be seen as...petty."_

" _Petty?" Roran echoed him. "That's stupid. You know what Saiyans are, what they do. How can you even consider letting one roam through the streets."_

" _He's not going to be alone. I've detailed him a guide, and I would send you with him as well. Secretly, tailing him. It's chance for you to better know your target, and I can't give him an armed escort without making my suspicions obvious. You can do what no number of soldiers can."_

 _Roran grimaced. "I don't like that." He said. "I don't like going out into the city while you're still here. You know they could be trying to lure any guards away while they kill you, right?"_

"I doubt Saiyans would bother with something that subtle." The king responded. "More likely, the one going out is trying to scout defences in the event that they decide to attack us."

" _I assume the guide is ordered not to let that happen?"_

" _Of course, but do you really expect them to be able to stop a curious Saiyan?"_

 _"No, I suppose not." Roran admitted with a frown. "But I still don't like it."_

" _There's very little about what has happened in the last few weeks that I have liked." The Era-Sha said. "Welcome to the club. Are you willing to do it?"_

" _You're the one paying me." Roran said with a shrug. "I'll do it, but I have objections."_

" _So noted. I'll patch you into the local emergency channels. Police, military, medical, that sort of thing. I'll also give you high level authority. Try to tail him, but don't let him see you unless you have no choice. Make sure he doesn't do anything that might force a response, but don't attack him either if you can help it. A dead Saiyan is no good if it causes the other two to go on a rampage."_

" _I still feel like you should send someone else." Roran protested. "I'll do it, but..."_

" _No one else would go." Era-Sha responded bluntly. "Saiyans are legends, nightmarish monsters that hunt all good little boys and girls that won't do as they're told. Do you really think I'd trust most of my soldiers not to open fire on the slightest provocation? They're good soldiers, good men and women, but this is nothing like what they're trained to deal with. I'd be asking them to follow a demon and not let it know that they were there. At least you have experience tracking them and hiding from them. At least you've done it before. I don't want an incident out of this."_

 **Confirm target…?**

The words danced before his eyes, twisting and mocking him. His finger half-squeezed the trigger; his heart beating a staccato tune in his throat. He wanted this kill. He wanted it so much. Era-Sha didn't know just how much he hated the Saiyans. How much he wanted them all dead. Now, he had his chance. All he had to do was to take it.

All he had to do was to squeeze the trigger. Then, there would be a flash of light, and one less monster in the universe. He wanted it so badly he could almost taste it, and with a deep sense of shame and guilt, he edged his vision to zoom in. Target marks appeared around the Saiyan's chest, the CPU calculating in time with his own thoughts the best way to hit him so that the Arkosian gained a lethal opening. The Saiyan was moving faster than the naked eye could follow, but his suit's computers were not so limited. Once gained, the lock remained, the tip of the gun following the path of the battle.

One burst of fire was al it would take.

He took a deep breath. Forced himself to calm, forced his heart rate to slow. The Saiyan's chest took up his targeting view, and his finger slowly started to inch towards the trigger.

So simple. So quick. So easy.

 **Target lock cancelled.**

The helmet hissed as pressure normalised, and he pulled it free of his head with a sudden lurch of motion. The warm air of the desert pressed in against his sweating face; the battle faded into a series of explosions and blurs now he watched with his own eyes and not those of the suit. His hair was slick with sweat. He put down the rifle, and slowly, his hands balled into fists as he felt years of rage and frustration battling to get out.

* * *

Raditz smirked, feeling the world around him fade away to an indistinct collection of vague blurs. His opponent stood out in contrast, the image razor sharp. The wind tugged at his hair as he dove under a wild swing, the scything talons of the Arkosian's hand clawing at his back. His armour held, and he launched forwards to deliver a blow to the aliens' gut. Insect armour cracked under his fists, strangely coloured blood stained his knuckles. The Arkosian hopped back, still furious, still angry, but more wary now.

Speed. It all came down to speed. For the first time in days, he was able to lose himself in the frantic pace of an equal fight. His Saiyan blood roared in approval, his heart was pounding, and his lips were parted in a feral smile. All his doubts and fears seemed to simply fall away, and all the dangers of the future to grow muted and distant.

All that mattered was here and now. He was at home, at peace. He was a Saiyan in war, and there was no more glorious thing to be.

The Arkosian pressed forwards suddenly, two of its four claws scything for his chest. He fended them off, taking a cut to the forearm that made him hiss in pain, rich red blood mixing with the alien purple. The creature lashed out with a kick, and forced him to leap into the air, his feet left the ground, and with a blast of power, he thrust his hands forwards and gave a shot. The Arkosian darted away, and the ground it had been standing on exploded.

Through chocking dust and mist kicked up by the blast, the insect came. All of its arms extended to rip and tear. Its compound eyes burning with fury and anger. Between blows, Raditz wondered just how much it knew of what had happened, and how right it had been when it accused them of siding with Frieza. The Arkosians had gotten word of their planet's destruction, and tried to sabotage Frieza's space ship light years from any civilized world. It'd been a clever plan, and one he would have approved of but for one tiny factor.

The Saiyans were on the ship too, and none of them particularly wanted to be trapped for years in a small ship with Frieza. As a result, they'd ended up fighting the aliens off, and ultimately saving the ship. In doing so, they'd doomed the Arkosians' home world. Frieza did not take betrayal mildly.

They traded blows for a long moment of intense force. Raditz scored a hit on its chest, turned aside a disembowelling cut, and took a long, shallow cut to the face. The Arkosian's own armour broke under the strain of another hit from Raditz, and a sweeping kick almost knocked it from its feet. After a moment, they broke apart. Raditz wiped the blood from his face. Felt the pain of his wounds, and was invigorated by them.

"You're not bad." Raditz admitted, looking at the red stain on his gauntlet. "But you're not nearly as strong as the Arkosians we fought before. Tell me you can do a little better please. I'd like an actual challenge today."

"Monster!" The insect alien roared, throwing itself at him. Its claws lashed out wildly, and he gave ground, dodging left then right, circling around it in the hopes of opening a hole in its defences. Despite his cocky attitude, he knew he was being pressed. He'd done no major wounds to it so far, and was annoyed that it was drawing things out so long.

The Arkosian lunged forwards, catching him with a shoulder-tackle that sent him tumbling into a nearby building, the wall shattered and broke around him, stone hailed down around his head, smacking into his shoulders and armour. He spat out dust, and tried to rise.

The Arkosian was on him. Suddenly, Raditz was fighting for his life, pinned down and unable to dodge, his hands blurred as he desperately blocked and parried attacks. He felt a flash of pain as his leg was opened almost to the bone, the scent of his own blood hung heavy in the air. The Arkosian slashed downwards, and he rolled to the side; sparks flew as the alien's claws ripped into the cement beneath them both. For a moment, it was stuck, and Raditz launched himself forwards. The impact rammed the alien backwards, and it stumbled. Now, the pitch of the fight had changed again, the Arkosian's arms swinging wildly, with speed and power as well as that lethal edge provided by its claws. The deep cut in Raditz's leg was bleeding heavily, and each movement brought a flash of pain to the front of his mind. His mobility was limited, and he was being pressed. The Arkosian relying on its many limbs overwhelming his defences.

He grunted, throwing his arms up to block a thrust, and then ducked around a slice meant to take his head off. His focus was absolute, and all he could think of was how how to win the fight. His fist powered forwards, smacking the alien creature in he face. It reeled back, and he found that he had breathing room again.

He attacked. Moving forwards, forcing his leg to cooperate. His hands filled with energy, and the street erupted with multiple detonations centred on the alien insect. Raditz's laughter echoed above the explosions. Suddenly, the insect tore through the smoke with a howl. He lurched to the left barely in time, and the shoulder guard of his armour was obliterated. Raditz spun, and lanced a kick into the insect's gut. It grunted in pain and exhaustion. One of its arms swayed forwards to try and stab him, but he gripped it and twisted, throwing the insect over his shoulder. It slammed down into the ground before him. There, it lay for a moment, gasping for air.

"What's the matter?" Raditz asked it, still holding onto its arm. "Are you so tired already?" He did his best to conceal his own weariness, the frantic pace of the fight having worn on him as well. "Don't tell me that's all you have?"

The Arkosian looked up at him, its compound eyes meeting his gaze, and he had the unsettling sensation that he was being stared at by dozens of insects rather than just one.

"You are….a monster..." It said after a moment. "You are...an abomination… Saiyan… where you go, you leave only blood and death…My species died at your hands… even if it was Frieza that killed us, it was you that handed him the blade."

"Is that so?" Raditz scowled down at it. "That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? The Arkosians I fought last certainly didn't give much of a damn about right and wrong. You didn't care that we were monsters, you just wanted to be on top for once. Hell, you even offered to let us join you. Tell me, what does that say about your kind, being willing to work with ''abominations'' like us?"

"My world…." The creature said. "My family… my clan, and my hive, they burned the day that Arkos did. You tell me that we are as bad as you? Tell that to the mountain of dead you've left behind. One day, someone is going to make your kind pay for what you've done. Maybe not me, but someone will. And on that day, wherever I am, I'll laugh."

"Laugh at this." with a frown, Raditz gripped the arm tightly and _pulled._ There was a cracking sound, and a gout of purple blood as the limb came free from the insect's chest. The Arkosian gapped in shock and pain. Raditz tossed the limb away, seeing it fall across the other side of the ally.

"Now." He said conversationally. "I know that you Arkosians don't die from something as small as that. However, I'm pretty sure it still hurts you. Judging from your reaction, anyway. Why don't we try talking again and this time you can give me some damn respect."

The Arkosian gasped for air, its body writhing in the grips of pain. Though, it was warrior cast, Raditz guessed it was only a low ranking one. The ones he'd fought before had been much stronger. After a moment, it seemed to gather itself.

"You...you think that pain means anything to me, Saiyan? Anything at all? I've suffered worse than this when my world was destroyed! When my people were enslaved and scattered! All because of you and monsters like you! Kill me if you're going to, but I'm not going to treat you with anything but hate!"

"Blah, blah, blah, my people are dead, my planet is dead, you Saiyans are oh so evil. I've heard it all before. If you can't say anything original, don't say anything at all." Raditz raised a palm, glowing with energy directed directly towards the alien's face. The Arkosian flinched as the light washed over him. "Last chance. Want to try again?"

"You Saiyans never understood." The Arkosian grunted. "Maybe we were conquerors as well! And maybe we aspired to heights of empire ourselves! Hell, maybe we would have enslaved those who fell to us… some of us would have liked that, I can't say how it would have gone down. But at least we treated other species like they were capable of some kind of independent existence! Look at you, anyone not a Saiyan is an animal to be put down, a fight to be enjoyed… you have no idea what consequences even are to someone who isn't like you. No one but another Saiyan is a real person to you, and guess what? I bet there are fewer and fewer of them in existence right about now."

"Well." Raditz said. "I guess I did ask for something original. Too bad for you I don't give a damn about what you think of my kind. Goodbye, Arkosian. The fight you gave me was...adequate..."

* * *

The Palace of the Eternal Sea had stood at the heart of the capital city for as long as records went back. Though, it had changed forms many times, it had suffered at the hands of disasters, invasions and conquests; it had been razed time and again, each ''death'' was met with life again, as it was built up once more. It had existed in many forms over the centuries, many shapes and guises had it worn, but always it had been the seat of power. The place where the kings of old sat upon their thrones and dispensed wisdom or tyranny, as the nature of the particular king might dictate.

Legend said it was even older than that, though. Legend said that the palace had been raised such a long time ago, that the city hadn't even been there then. That it had been the first building, stumbled upon by a dozen thirsty stragglers, the unlikely forerunners of a great civilization.

They said – and it was always ''they'' always some nebulous, faceless ''they'' who never had a specific identity that you could pin down and question – they said that the first foundations of the palace had been laid by ancient druids, who danced and chanted about it, and invoked the wicked power of their dark arts.

In short, it was raised by magic.

 _Magic._ The very word sent a tingle down the spine of the most civilized Erashan; even the most well educated of them; try as they might, could not erase the power that word had over their psyche.

 _Magic._ It conjured a thousand half-remembered stories, a hundred and one murky lessons taught and then forgotten in the mists of childhood. Spun in old stories, and repeated in verse and fairy tale.

 _Magic._ They said that it had been replaced; driven out with logic and reason, burned away with science and rationality. There was no magic, they said. Simply the easily fooled, and those willing to prey upon them. So they said. The experts, the scientists, the King himself and all those who wished to find favour with him. Magic was the darkness that existed before the dawning of a more rational age, it was a stop-gap, a no-longer needed placebo that helped one feel better about their place in an uncaring, cold universe.

Magic was dead. Magic had never existed at all.

They were wrong. To the Erashans, the die-hard believers who struggled on in the face of this determined new way; to the ones who sold charms, and kept the old blessings alive, the ones who danced for rain, and sang to call the wind. Magic was real to them. When you remembered something in a split second that you felt like you'd never really learned, that was magic. When you guessed ahead of time the sentence that someone was about to say, that was magic. When you searched all over for some small objects like your keys, only to find them in the first place you'd looked? That was magic too.

It was the magic of the everyday, the magic of the normal. Even opposed, it slept and waited for its chance to re-emerge in the hearts and minds of those who believed in it even if they told themselves they did not.

But that was not the only sort of magic on Erasha. There was another magic too. A deeper magic. A _real_ magic. A magic like the sort told in the old tales, magic with fangs and teeth. Crackling, roaring, hissing magic, bulging with uncontrolled energy. All edges and saw-blades and the potentiality of disaster. And just as those druids rumoured to exist long ago had centred their magic upon the palace, so to did this alien magic.

Below it, as a matter of fact.

Deep underground, below the belly of the palace, there was a room. It was not, in and of itself, a special room. It was one of hundreds. There were many more like it, all built a long time ago to help store goods and food before the palace had started to climb for the stars. It was large and circular, but most of all, it was empty. No one came to it anymore, and it had long since been emptied of whatever treasures it might have held.

Time and age had set in, until the whole thing smelled faintly of dust, and spiders built webs above the doors. The room lapsed into a disuse that it would probably never have emerged from again if not for him. He'd found it long ago, and considered it good for his purposes, and now it had been transformed. The walls burned with torches, secured by metal grips. The smoke tried in futility to escape through the roof only to bellow down, and fill the room. Water – precious life-giving water – had been splashed against the walls, and there was a sense of nervous energy to the room. The inhabitants of it, about twenty or thirty people, each one wearing long, deep robes that hid their identities and faces, stood and talked amongst themselves. The astute eye would notice that they stood in clumps of two or three to half a dozen at most. As though no one group trusted most of the others. On the floor, there had been drawn an ornate circle in what looked unpleasantly like blood. Later, there would probably be ominous chanting in an odd and dead language, and if people felt brave enough, the pricking of fingers and drawing of blood.

Over it al, the figure watched. The smoke weaved about his form, the steady rasp of his re-breather keeping his old lungs from succumbing to it. He looked on, over the cult that he had gathered, and he could feel only one thing.

Idiots. The lot of them were fools and worse. The robes prickled at his pride, the circle was stupid, and the waste of water was just plain moronic. Amongst his own people, he'd be laughed at if they ever knew that he was presiding over such a sorry collection of acolytes. A magic circle, really? Dark robes? Ominous chanting? Did they know _nothing?_ Props like this only showed how frail their grasp of the true power really was. It shone a torch on how little they really knew.

He moved slowly. Walking amongst their number with the air of some ancient predator. His coming was foreshadowed by the steady thumping of his cane, and the rasping of his rebreather. The smoke bellowed around him, and he vaguely wondered how good it would be for his skin to be in it for such a period of time. His skin annoyed him most days. So dry, and thin now. Easily broken. Blood flowed so easily from his dying body. Like the soul trying to escape the vessel of its confinement.

 _You are being ridiculous._ Mo-Fai told himself sternly. _This pageantry and pointless pomp is making you feel old. Ignore it, and it will pass soon enough._

He paused for a moment, and leaned on his staff. It was an old one, though not as aged as its user. Wood, and polished to a fine shine, with intricate designs that flowed down the heft and across the body. Rumour amongst his flock was that such runes gave him power. That power being either control over the elements, mastery of souls, or something else dependent on the speaker. No matter what the specifics, though, the staff of Mo-Fai was agreed to hold great power.

When it had first come to his ears, the rumour had filled him full of acrid contempt for most of them. Magic runes, really? Magic writing? Command of the elements? Couldn't they _see?_ Didn't they understand? Magic didn't come from totems and toys. Magic came from your own power, your own will. You could _create_ totems, but you had to have the power yourself first. It didn't work the other way around.

His staff was nothing but the decorated limb of some long dead tree. It's sole purpose was to aid his locomotion. The fact that his so-called ''faithful'' didn't see that…

Old Mo-Fai, they called him when he wasn't around. Wise Mo-Fai was his name when he was. He was known as master to them, beloved or feared depending on the individual. But no one ever asked him why he'd taught them, no one had ever asked him what he wanted.

His moment of rest turned into five. Still, his old legs ached, and Mo-Fai took a moment to curse his wizened form. His arms were stick-thin, and if it hadn't been for the rebreather, he'd be gasping. He looked the very image of the elders he had once mocked.

 _Ah._ He thought to himself again. _The universe does have a sense of humour. Or at the very least, a sense of irony. I never thought I would be in this position… expected to die long before it. Now, I am and I finally understand how they elders felt. Almost makes me sad I killed them._

He was aware of the eyes of the cult on him, and started to move forwards again. His shaking bones, and twisting muscles forced into line by sheer willpower. That at least, had not declined since his youth. His body was already pushing its limit, but under his iron self control, it moved smoothly, with all the guise of a powerful, respected and calm leader. They made way for him as he walked; their chatter slowing to a halt as he passed them. Each one hooded, but hoods meant nothing to Mo-Fai. Most of them were cannon-fodder, nothing that he expected to last. Not a spark of talent amongst them. Children playing at being gods. A few however…

He passed by one of his followers, a blond-haired male who was smirking with self-confidence. No fear in his gaze, and his slowness to move out of the way demonstrated a lack of respect as well. Of all the followers in the cult, this one had the most power. There was genuine potential there. Oh, it was small, and nothing like even the most meagre of his own kind, but for an Erashan, the man was potent.

Mo-Fa marked him out, and continued forwards, towards the raised podium which overlooked the drawn circle in the middle of the room. He came to the top, and rested gladly. There was a book laid out before him on the stand, the pages were yellowed, and the words were in some unknown script. It was another prop, and just looking at it brought an acrid sense of distaste to his mouth. If his brothers knew he had stooped to using such a thing…

But no. it was needed. It was to reassure them. To make them think that he was like them. His cultists, his cattle. He needed the book, even as he hated that need. Even as he knew how his brothers would have reacted…

Ah, his brothers. Now, those had been some good times. When they were young and strong, and sure that they would light the universe on fire. When they were powerful, so strong that even the Saiyans visiting would have been reduced to gaping away at the sight of their true strength! He still remembered the tingle, the sense of energy rushing through his body as he invoked a strength he hadn't been able to summon for decades now. Or was it centuries? So hard to remember after a while… Mo-Fai could barely walk nowadays, much less fight.

It had been a long time since he had seen any of his brothers. Even longer since they'd worked together. In those days, cooperation had seemed such a waste. Each and every one of them eager to strike out on their own; sure that their power and their incredible immune system and regeneration would see them safe no matter what. Ah, such were the dreams of youth. Their numbers had dwindled one by one, and as far as Mo-Fai knew, he was the only one left.

Through age rimmed eyes, he looked down at the cult he'd gathered.

 _Sheep._ He thought to himself. _Sheep who think they can become wolves…_

But then, his eyes alighted on the one who he had noted before. The one with potential, as well as several others, more loyal to him. The few he'd trusted with a small measure of the truth. His inner circle.

 _No._ He amended. _Not all of you are sheep. But none of you know what it is to truly be wolves either. We shall see what we can do about that, I suppose._

The cult waited. There was absolute silence now. No one would dare say a word. He felt their eyes on him, and urged himself to stand straighter, to radiate power and purpose as he had once done without the need of direction. But he'd gone from a raging fire to a flickering candle.

 _But even a candle can ignite a new blaze._

"Gather." He said, his voice ringing out clearly. No one was anywhere else, but it was tradition, and part of the ritual. "Gather and hear what I have to say!"

He took a deep breath, tasting the artificial air of his rebreather. It was stale, and no matter how many years he'd been using it, he could never get used to it. Sometimes, he almost mused that death would be preferable to it, but never quite had the courage to take the final step. He clung on to life, as he always had done, and as he always would. He was the last of his kind only because he refused to relinquish his grip on the mortal world for anything short of the end of that world.

"We have gathered together again." He said, his voice carrying. "It does my old heart good to see you all… so many of you willing to come despite the current crisis. I won't bandy words, you all know the reason for this ritual. There have come visitors to our world. Visitors from the stars. The servants of Frieza come to shackle us to his will again. But even more than that, who does he send to forge our chains?"

"The Saiyans!" Someone shouted from the crowd. "He's sent the Saiyans!"

"Yes." Mo-Fai rasped. "He has sent Saiyans. An insult and a threat rolled into one. Now, our dear king is taking steps to treat with them, and to convince them to back down..." He paused for a moment, letting the crowd taste the mockery in his words. "But we all know that you do not treat with animals! You do not sit down with a pig, and debate who is going to eat what food!"

The crowd erupted. It was rather easy to lead them. After all, he'd built the cult from the gullible, the foolish, the ones who didn't know how to think; and his presence was still imposing, the rumours they believed about him helped. He could sweep them along, talk them into anything and make them think it was their idea.

"The Saiyans have come..." Mo-Fai rumbled. "And in their wake, they will leave death and destruction! They will burn our city as they have done to countless others, and if we are lucky, that is all they will do! If we are not, the planet will join it in the flame, and the Erashan species shall be known only as a footnote in history. An extinct race, too helpless to protect itself."

He paused, taking another breath, letting his words wash over the crowd like a wave, soak into their skin. Letting them _feel_ the emotion he was injecting.

"But we are not helpless. My children, my students. Where reason and science fail, we can succeed. The Saiyans believe they have our measure, but they have not even begun to understand what we can do. Know you all that it pains me to ask you this. Know you all that I know of the risks and the danger. There may be death. We may all fail, but we _must_ try. For the sake of our world, for Erasha!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their pale faces white with fear, sweaty beneath their robes. He felt the corner of his mouth prick up into a drooping smile. His lungs burned from too much time spent amidst the smoke, even his rebreather only offered so much protection.

He raised a hand for silence, and then continued.

"We must work together as we never have before. I have taught you my arts over the last dozen years, and watched with pride as you overcame all blocks, and became something I did not expect. I am proud of you all. So now I must ask you to help me. For you see, my power is not what it once was, and I need your help. Form the circle, my children, and begin the ritual. Grant me your power that I might reach into the beyond and summon forth salvation."

The ritual began slowly. There was much chanting and waving of arms; mystical words were spoken that he had taught long ago. Words that meant very little in the grand scheme of things. They were a placebo, a simple way to trick the mind into entering the correct state, into going into a trance. Mo-Fai started to feel them opening up to him, one by one. It was an art that he had polished over the long centuries spent here on this world. He wondered sometimes if it was an ability of all of his kind, or if it was unique to himself. He'd never met another who had it, but then, his species had many powers that they suppressed within themselves. It was one of the reasons for the great split.

At any rate, no matter what its origin, Mo-Fai had the power to reach out into those willing, and with difficulty, those unwilling as well. Their power flowed around him, and he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. Most of the Erashans were tiny embers, sparking with lowly light. Barely magical at all, save in great number. A few were different; they burned with power. Potential flickered over them with invisible flames of potency. Most of these were his Inner Circle, one or two was one of the novices who showed promise.

Mo-Fai's species were magical by nature. All of them had some kind of magical prowess, to one extent or another. Some chose not to develop it, some spent their lives refining it. Many of them had a particular talent, and Mo-Fai's was about to come into place. The ritual was one of joining; of perfect harmony and union. Thirty souls rejoiced and became one, pooled their power and their potential. For an instant, each soul was only the building blocks of an even greater being. The joy swept through them, and in that moment, defences came crashing down.

Quick as lightning, Mo-Fai struck. He plunged a metaphorical hand into the fire which represented the cultist he'd marked before. The man started, and gasped stupidly. His body went cold, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. In the last moment of his life, he saw Mo-Fai looking down at him, and he knew he had been betrayed.

Then he expired. The others continued on. The rapture of the ritual too great to allow them to notice such a paltry distraction. Beneath his mask, Mo-Fai smiled.

He felt younger already. The stolen power crackled through his veins, and allowed him to rejuvenate himself a little. The small amount of power the man had wielded meant that it was only a temporary measure, of course. But it would do for a while. It would push back his death another week, a month, perhaps two or three if he was lucky. Before that period was over, he'd call together the cult again, or one of his half a dozen others across the planet, and harvest another spark. In this way, he'd lived for a long time, beyond anything he should have.

When the others emerged from their trance, it would be simple to tell them that the man had not survived the ritual. So sad, he would be remembered as a great hero who'd given his life for their world. No one would question him. No one would dare.

He sighed. Feeling the aches and pains of age start to fade. They'd return, of course. They always did. But he was free for now.

The ritual was building, the combined power of the cult like a thunder storm crackling and snarling across the room. With expert hands, he took ahold of it, their power filled him up, not like the other one hand. This was willingly shared, only a fraction of what he could harvest, but he needed them alive for now. Needed them able to help him like this. His own reserves of power had long since dried up, but with their raw strength, and his skill, he had found that he could still access some of his powers.

" _My students."_ This time, his voice was not merely physical, it was a construct shared between the group, communicated mind to mind and soul to soul. _"We are joined. I feel your power, and you feel my skill. We are as one. Now, let us act as one. With the strength we have gathered, let us defend our world. Let us begin the summoning..."_

* * *

Raditz was leaning down to tear off another limb when the wall beside him exploded. He recoiled, feeling the lacerating touch of shards skittering across his face. He frowned, his scouter didn't show any new attacker. He leapt back, making distance as his hands filled with power.

"Who's there?" He growled. "I hope that wasn't aimed at my head, because if so, your aim is terrible and you're about to lose your own."

"It was a warning, Saiyan. I'd suggest you heed it." Said a new voice, and a figure dropped down into view from the roof of one of the buildings. He was clad in silvery-grey armour, patch-worked and worn. It bore scars from repair, and reforging. There wasn't a hint of skin beyond it, and it seemed to hug his form fairly well, save for his back which bulged outwards and Raditz guessed there was a power plant there. The figure was wearing a helmet, and the face plate of it was tinted glass. He had a gun in his hands, a rifle of some sorts, and wires snaked from it to an open compartment in the arm of his suit.

"That armour..." Raditz said, looking him over slowly. "I've seen it before."

"No you haven't." The figure responded. "This armour went out of style long before you were born. I doubt you'd ever have any chance to see it."

"Hmm." Raditz frowned. "You say that, but it looks familiar..."

"Are you sure it's not just similar to the armour of some other poor people you've slaughtered, Saiyan?"

"Maybe it is." He conceded. "Many species do try to augment their pathetic power with armour like yours. It doesn't tend to work very well. So, let's say I accept your statement that that shot was a warning, what did you want to warn me from?"

"That." The man pointed with the barrel of the rifle to the Arkosian. "Seems to me that you've already won this fight."

"Then at least you're not blind as well as stupid." Raditz responded. "Did you want to make a second round of it? Because believe me, I'd love to."

"I don't much fancy dying here and now." The man said. Raditz blinked, and then smirked all the wider.

"Do you know..." He said. "I've realised what was different about you. As soon as you appeared, I knew something was off. I thought it was the armour but… _you're not afraid_ are you?"

"Would it make much of a difference?" The man asked. "If you decided to kill me here and now, you could do so for sure. My fear or lack of it wouldn't do much but steal some fun from your kill."

"Ever since we came here, everyone has been bowing and scraping or cowering in fear." The Saiyan said. "Barring the Arkosian here, you're the first one who's not. Just who are you? I'm betting you're not from this pathetic world."

"That doesn't much matter. I'm not really from anywhere important. My name is Roran. Do you recognise it?"

"Should I?"

"No, I suppose not. Anyway, I'd rather you didn't."

"How ominous." Raditz responded.

"For you, perhaps."

Raditz grinned, feeling his battle-lust finally starting to fade. His muscles ached from his brawl with the Arkosian, and his wounds were starting to clot. The deep wound on his leg would need some care, but otherwise he'd emerged unharmed and easily the victor. The Arkosian had been powerful, but Radiz had been all the stronger still. He was almost giddy with it, feeling his doubts and fears fade away. He'd tested his power and succeeded.

Given that, he was feeling quite gracious.

"So, are you going to explain why you wanted to save this creature? I assume you don't much like him attacking people in the streets?"

"About as much as we like people being killed for crimes they haven't been convicted of." Roran said. "Since you seemed pretty happy torturing him, I'd suggest you not start talking about crimes."

"Torture only counts if it's against people. Besides, I only took an arm. He has three more. Arkosians can regenerate them, so it's not a major loss."

"What a shocking opinion to come from a Saiyan." Roran said, refusing to rise to the bait that Raditz had thrown at him. "I'm going to have to ask you to step away from him."

"And if I don't?"

Roran raised his rifle, and Raditz almost laughed in his face. A gun? What did he expect a gun to do to a Saiyan? He stepped forwards, towards the armoured figure. Roran was a bit shorter than him, he could see now. Though, wearing that armour, it was hard to say by how much, The man's aim didn't waver as the Saiyan closed on him.

"If you don't do it, I am going to have to call for backup." Roran admitted. "I have full authority to do that. The police can be here in minutes, the army in slightly longer."

"Do you think that would save your life?" Raditz asked, his voice suddenly dagger-sharp. "Do you think you could last long enough against a Saiyan?"

Roran held his ground, even as Raditz inched closer and closer, until his chest was pressed almost to the barrel of the gun, and his eyes looking down at the armoured figure. Raditz gazed down, waiting for the slightest betrayal of fear, the smallest tremble, the most well concealed doubt.

"You would kill me." Roran admitted. "In minutes, probably. But it would be an incident nonetheless, and with only you being absent, the king would know who was to blame. It would spoil the negotiations."

"Are you so sure I care about that? I'm a Saiyan after all, what if the negotiations are only a cover to get us here? What if we're about to start killing? What if we're going to start with you."

Raditz raised a hand, and Ki thrummed in his palm. The aura of power crackling around his outstretched digits. Roran's head turned to track the potential attack.

A long moment passed, Raditz held the charge, smirking down at the smaller figure. Imagining his fear building, waiting for him to break.

"If you're going to attack, then do it." Roran barked. "Otherwise, I don't want to deal with you any longer than I have to."

Silence, broken by a loud noise, Raditz's laughter as he threw back his head in amusement.

"You're still not scared!" He laughed. "And you have the gall to taunt a Saiyan? You know what? I take it all back, I _am_ glad I came out today! I'm on a good mood too, so..."

He leapt back all of a sudden, Roran's gun wavered at the sudden motion, his finger pressed against the trigger, but he didn't fire.

"I'll let you off this time." Raditz announced grandly. "You can have the Arkosian. And the guide too, by the looks of things. I doubt she's going to be moving under her own power for a while."

He stepped back and turned around, heading for the exit of the ally.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Roran barked after him, but Raditz answered with another laugh.

"I'm going for a stroll." He said. "After the city has shown me so much, I can't wait to see what I find next."

* * *

Roran stood and watched the Saiyan go. He could feel the stiffening rage which had suffused his body starting to decline now, and he forced himself to breath deeply, peering at the Arkosian's body. How much blood could one of them lose and still be in good condition? Did the loss of a limb cripple them in the same way as one of his kind? He didn't know, and powered by this realisation, he opened a channel to the palace.

"Roran here. If you'd be so good, please send a medical team to my current location. Alien. Arkosian, if you have anything on them. He's hurt badly, but not fatally I think. Bring him the infirmary in the palace. Yes, I know there are local hospitals as well, but I want him at the palace. Why? That's not really any of your concern."

The link cut, and he crouched down, wondering at the deep wounds the Arkosian had managed to inflict on the Saiyan. He hadn't survived so long bynever failing to use everything he could. If he couldn't stand toe to toe with the Saiyans, then one of his options was to find someone who could.

"I think we're going to have words later." He said to the alien. "Once your mind isn't bogged down with pain. I think we can come to an understanding."


	6. Chapter Five: Closing Noose

"Prince Vegeta, surely as the appointed heir of your own people you must understand the difficulty of the situation. Frieza's offer is most generous, but we fear what would be taken in return. As the king of the Erashans, it is my job… my _duty_ to see that my people are cared for and protected. With all due respect, Freiza does not offer protection."

"You're right." Vegeta said. He was standing in a large circular room. There was a table set in the middle of it, but Vegeta wasn't going to sit there. He was standing instead, his arms down at his sides. Barely resisting the urge to cross them and to scoff at the weakness inherent in the man before him.

Besides the grey-haired king, Era-Sha, there were others present as well. An assembly of loyal guards that Vegeta knew he could plough through in less than a minute, various councillors who had come to see their king do verbal battle with the hated Saiyan. Advisers of all sorts and colours thronged the half of the room that was dominated by Era-Sha. Vegeta's side of the room was largely barren and he enjoyed it that way. He felt no gazes on his back, the weakness of no underlings to get in his way. The only one there besides himself was Nappa who leaned against the wall in a nonchalant manner. The big Saiyan had said nothing since the meeting started, but his presence alone had sent ripples through the delegation.

Privately, Vegeta was quite happy with this situation. He could almost scent the terror on the breeze; the barely contained fear of the guards who jumped at every shadow and noise. Pathetic. Not even worth the weapons they carried. Was this supposed to be the planet's best?

Era-Sha on the other hand…

The King was old, that much was obvious. His hair was grey, and his skin lined with wrinkles, but though he felt the same fear as his followers Vegeta had been surprised to see how well he controlled it. How willing he was to argue with him, the Prince of all Saiyans. Even though everyone in the room knew that Vegeta and Nappa were supreme in their power here. No one lived who wasn't allowed to do so by them.

"You're right." Vegeta repeated. "Frieza does not offer protection to the likes of you. What he offers instead is survival. You've been given the chance to return to the fold. You Erashans were once some of his most gifted engineers. Don't tell me you didn't make a profit of that?"

This had an effect. It was clear from the city outside that Erasha had profited from the time spent under Frieza. It was, despite the blithering idiocy of its population, a rich world. Vegeta had been sure that this would strike a few cords, and he was right. Some of the advisers leaned down, and there were murmurs amongst the noble councilmen. Vegeta watched it all with a faint sense of distaste. The uncertainty, the weakness inherent in their king's grip on power. If Erasha had been a world of Saiyans, none of this would have happened. There would be no need for dissent, the King would decide and his will would be done. It was as simple as that.

Of course, if Erasha were a world of Saiyans, it wouldn't be in this mess at all.

 _No. It would be dead._ A small part of him added. _Just like Planet Vegeta. Destroyed by Frieza long before now._

He ignored that niggling doubt, pushed it aside with an easy grace. Frieza's time would come. Until then, Vegeta had to be loyal. Had to be ready. This Erasha business was just another game in Frieza's part. Send the Saiyans to conduct a negotiation, let them mess it up and then swoop in to save the horrified populace once they ended their reign of blood. As for the Saiyans themselves? Vegeta wondered if Frieza wasn't trying to find a way to kill them off based on their own flaws. He could kill them any time, of course. But Frieza was a cruel master, and simply killing them would not be enough. Not for the Saiyans he so feared. If they died at his hands, he'd want it to be because of their own mistakes, and want then to _know_ it was because of their own mistakes. Just to make their ending despair all the sweeter.

Erasha was a test they could not afford to fail.

"It's true." The old king said softly. "We made money under Frieza. All it cost is was our souls. I have seen the influence of your tyrant on my world, Prince Vegeta. The worst part about Frieza is not that he kills, not the terror he brings. It's that he makes you like him. He strips your planet's name, and makes it so that all that matters is his own business, his own power. Yes, we made money. But in doing so, we nearly lost our souls to the evil of your master. We won't go back to that. We are free, and free we shall remain."

"Free for now." Vegeta countered. "But all of your imperious words and speeches will mean very little when Frieza himself darkens your skies. You are valuable, and he does not wish to see you destroyed. But do not think you are so valuable that he will not do it if you dare to defy him."

"Not so valuable that he won't send his pet Saiyans to speak for him, you mean?" Era-Sha countered sourly.

"If that's the way you want to see it." Vegeta said smoothly, ignoring how ruffled that reference made him feel. He was no one's pet, but he had to play his part for now. Ignore the slight to his pride. Wait for Frieza to let down his guard. "Consider this. Nappa or myself could bring this world to its knees. Your military, your technology, your armies, everything you have. None of it would matter. One full moon, and your whole culture would be washed away in a sea of blood."

"That is understood." Era-Sha said. "And I am glad that the concept of it gives you such joy, prince of the Saiyans."

"Frieza is infinitely greater than we are. If you choose to defy him, your end will not be swift, nor will it be merciful. He is offering you a chance. Do not turn it aside."

"A chance? A chance? A chance to return to slavery! A chance to turn aside all that we've learned! A chance to go back to what we were before?"

"A chance to survive. Consider how many others died for the lack of that curtesy."

"Oh, I'm well aware of the blood on your hands."

"Good. Then surely you don't want your own to be added to it."

The two royals were glaring at each other across the table now. Vegeta's fingers twitched, and he imagined them closing around the neck of the elderly king. Surely, the next one would be much more amiable?

"If I may intrude." The wheezing voice of the most aged adviser of all broke into the discussion. "We have talked all day, and it is getting late. Perhaps if we retire, and return to this in the morning it may yield some useful agreements?"

Vegeta scoffed.

"Whatever you feel is needed." He said. "We're not the ones on a time-limit here. Frieza's impatience is not directed at us."

The King glared at him, and then very slowly turned.

"Yes, Mo-Fai." He said. "You're right. We should rest now, I am tired. My old bones aren't used to this excitement anymore. We'll break here. With your permission, Prince of the Saiyans?"

Vegeta gave a grunt, and nodded. It was more than enough, and a few minutes later, he and Nappa were walking back down the corridor towards their rooms.

"So what did you think, Vegeta?" Nappa asked. "Stubborn lot, aren't they? Will they break?"

"They'll break." Vegeta said. "Did you feel the fear in that room? That king of theirs is the one holding them in check."

"So if something happened to him…"

"Don't be stupid, Nappa. Nothing is going to happen to him. Firstly, because we'd be the obvious targets for reprisal and secondly because nothing needs to happen. He's old and worn out. Oh, he's strong now, but he has a weakness. Many of them, in fact. He loves his people, Nappa. Did you hear how he spoke? About their soul? About how they were almost lost? Bah, kings shouldn't speak like that. It only makes them into gold-plated fools. In this case, that foolishness will be his undoing."

"We're going to threaten his people? I'd say we've already done plenty of that just be being here if you get my meaning. Not to mention whatever Raditz has been up to. Is that what you mean?"

"In a manner of speaking. No matter how much he whines, no matter how much he wants to resist us, no matter how much he hates Frieza… in the end none of it matters. He loves his people more. He'll do anything to ensure their survival. In the end, he'll join Frieza again, even if he hates himself for it."

"It's almost too easy." Vegeta shook his head. "Such a fool. I suppose it fits though. A lord of fools for a planet of them. I'll be much happier once we're away from this place and doing proper killing work again."

* * *

The meeting had gone about as well as could be expected, Roran considered, making his way down the corridors, past the seemingly endless line of tapestries and paintings. By Saiyan standards, Prince Vegeta was even showing tact.

Prince Vegeta! A thousand curses on that name! How he loathed it, and the man that it belonged to, and the family that used it as well. Most Saiyans were murderous beasts, it was simply in their nature. A few of them however managed to transcend that definition and become somehow much worse. Vegeta and his ancestors were among them. Half of that meeting had been spent totally ignoring the words, and gazing at the Saiyan who had killed so many, his own ancestors amongst them.

 _How much did they scream?_ He'd thought bitterly. _Did they beg you for mercy? I'm sure you gave them none. Just like I'll give you none when the time is right, ''Prince'' Vegeta. Prince of a race of killers._

His blood was up; a strong killing intent pouring through him with such force. He'd not experienced it for decades. He had almost thought it was lost to him. In some ways, it was nice to know that all of his youth had not yet deserted him.

Now, he was going to go to the med-bays, and see what he could find out about that Arkosian that Raditz had laid out. Most species tended to be hit pretty hard by the loss of a limb, but insects sometimes had a bit more resistance to it than most. If that was the case, and he was hoping that it was, then perhaps they could form some kind of partnership until this whole thing was over. The Arkosians had been a brutal, blood-thirsty race once, but alliances had been built on far shakier ground than mutual hatred of the Saiyans.

All in all, he considered, things were not as bad they could have been. Which just went to show that his day was probably about to take a turn somewhere, knowing his luck.

* * *

Raditz grimaced; the feel of the stiches pulling on his wounds was ever-present. His heart still hammered faintly when he thought of the battle with the Arkosian, and he felt much happier about his place in the universe now. Tailless he might have been, but he wasn't weak! Not even in the least.

For a moment, he imagined Bardock looking back at him, and wondered what his father would think now. His good mood vanished, and he could just see the judgement in those eyes. Even though Radiz was theoretically stronger, he'd never been able to beat his father. Not even once. He'd never even come close. Again and again he'd try, but Bardock would see him off with ease that made his blood boil, made him want to scream.

"You've got power." His father would say. "But what's the point in that alone? If power is all you can ever use, you'll just die uselessly the moment you run into someone who has more than you do."

Raditz clenched his fists, resisting the urge to lash out at the nearest wall, since he didn't want to cave in a roof or a room.

 _Damn you, father. Even when you're dead you won't stop haunting me. Why can't I let go of your memory? Why can't I ever feel like I'm strong enough for you?_

" _Because you're not."_ Bardock's voice seemed to reach him, filtered through his own thoughts. _"And you never will be. Little Raditz who couldn't learn, who always let his mouth run away with him. Never thought about what would happen if he didn't reign himself in. Well, you've lost your tail now, and you're technically the third strongest Saiyan in existence. Tell me, boy. Was it worth it?"_

He turned, striding from the quarters he shared with Vegeta and Nappa. He supposed that he wasn't supposed to leave the palace without a guide, but he didn't much care for that. He needed a fight, or failing that, he needed a drink.

For best results, he'd get both. Hopefully at the same time.

* * *

 _In his dreams, he saw the explosions once more. Rippling and dancing, horrifying and yet somehow spellbinding. It was impossible to turn away. From space, he could see it all. Seeing the glowing spots, the embers where cities had once stood. He could see how the land shifted with the force of each impact, writhing as though in agony and pain. In his dream, he could hear the screams. Though of course, he hadn't really been able to. But reality held little sway in this nightmare scenario. He listened to them, a thousand-thousand screams. Children and adults alike; the great hive-cities toppled one by one. Burning, searing, chocking to death. The Kings and Queens of his kind died in their droves. No one mounted any resistance, there was no time_

 _Besides, it was pointless._

 _The worst part though, the very worst of it was the tyrant's laugh. High-pitched, maniacal. Purple light threw his face into hellish relief. Frieza, the world-conqueror, the universal tyrant. Death glittered at his fingers, but it was only a partial death. His people were not destined to be cleansed from the universe._

 _No, that would be far too easy a fate. Instead, their cities were being erased, their culture obliterated. Survivors would be rounded up later, a new generation created. A new culture enforced. Loyalty to Frieza. A new wave of soldiers._

 _His blood boiled at the thought, in time with the broiling seas of Arkos._

He woke slowly. Beeping machinery informing him that he was in a medical facility. Machines had been set around him, wires ran down across his bed, he could feel sharp metal instruments plugging into his wounds.

Why was he wounded again?

Oh yes, the Saiyan.

One of his arms was a searing mass of pain. His exoskeleton was cracked and broken in numerous places. He was riding high on a sea of pounding agony. But he was somehow still alive.

"Oh, you're awake. Umm, maybe I should go and get someone?" A voice, he turned his head to see an Erashan. A woman. She was vaguely familiar, but he failed to recall from where exactly. He decided to address that directly.

"Who are you?" He said bluntly.

"Oh, um, my name is Siin-Sur." She said. "I was the guide with the Saiyan when you…fought."

"Why are you here with me now?"

"Well…" The set to her features told him that she wasn't so sure herself. Fleshy types were always hard to read for him. With their silly anatomical traits such as sacks of air in their chests, and their skeletons on the inside of their body. He'd honestly never understood how they managed to last so long.

Anyway, where was he? The woman, right. Well, he could read her enough to see confusion when it was in front of him. She had no idea why she had come to see him.

"I don't know…" She admitted, after a moment of thought. "It just seemed to me that you'd have no one to come and see you, and it was sort of my fault that you were hurt so…"

"It wasn't."

"Hmm?"

"It wasn't your fault. The Saiyan is the in at fault. He and his kind. They're the ones who set that into motion. It's nothing to do with you."

"If you say so." She frowned. "But I don't know about that. It was my job to keep the Saiyan out of the alleys. If I'd done it, maybe you two wouldn't have fought."

He chuckled then, amused by the thought of this stick-thin Erashan with her skeleton inside her body somehow managing to stop a Saiyan from doing _anything._ Despite himself, he was warming up to her.

"Xylgor." He said. She blinked at him for a moment, confusion in her eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's my name." Actually, it wasn't. But it was the closest thing to his name that he was willing to give to someone who was not of his race and brood. "If you're going to be here, you may as well know what to call me."

"Oh, I get it. Xylgor, right. I'm Siin-Sur, but uh, you already knew that so…"

"Perhaps I can interject." A third person was approaching the bed; this one was male, and at least he had the sense to wear a suit of armour over his hideously venerable fleshy exterior.

"Who are you?" Xylgor asked. "I don't remember you."

"Roran." The man said. "I wanted to ask you a few questions, and then maybe we can talk about the Saiyan who took your arm."

"It will regrow." Xylgor scoffed. "The loss of an arm means little to an Arkosian."

"Good. I was wondering if he was lying about that. Anyway, I want to talk a bit. I think you might like what I have to say."

Xylgor gestured to the chair beside that which was occupied by Siin-Sure. "Then take a seat and talk."

* * *

"He's still not back, Vegeta." Nappa said, crossing over from the side of the room which overlooked the street below. "It's getting late too."

"What do I care about some tailless weakling, Nappa?" Vegeta snapped. "Raditz can come and go as he pleases. If he's not strong enough to get himself out of whatever trouble he's in, well that's his problem."

Nappa said nothing, knowing that no words would really be able to convince Vegeta of Raditz's value. Even appealing to his nature as one of the last surviving Saiyans wouldn't mean much to the Prince. As far as Vegeta was concerned, you were strong or you were not. And Raditz fell very firmly into the side of the equation that the Prince marked as ''not''.

 _I wonder what your father would think of you now, my prince._ Nappa thought. _You called that other King a fool, and it was true because he was. But I wonder if you've gone the opposite way? You say that it's foolish to care, but you should care about the Saiyans. Even if we get revenge, what's left for us after that? Have you even thought of it? Do you really care?_

Of course, since Nappa valued his life and continued status as an ambulatory being with all his limbs and tail attached, he didn't give voice to these thoughts. He knew that he wasn't the smartest Saiyan around. Though he would never admit it out loud, Nappa knew that he could be stubborn, and when his blood was up he could make mistakes. Be too bold. Be stupid even. But that all came from being a Saiyan. A warrior scion descended from warriors. Nappa was an elite warrior who could trace his family all the way back to the Royal Court itself. Blood politics being what they were on Planet Vegeta, Nappa's line was not directly related to the King. But he was about as highly placed as one could be without incurring the wrath of the Royal Family via the potential of a power play.

The point was that Saiyans were hot-blooded, Nappa was hot-blooded even for a Saiyan. But Vegeta had been getting more and more cold-blooded for years, until now Nappa looked at him and almost didn't even recognise the boy he'd once known. The burning need for vengeance tied them all together, and Nappa's loyalty to his Prince was eternal as well, but it disturbed him to see Vegeta like this. So cold. So joyless even in the midst of a fight. So cynical, and always pushing himself forwards.

How had he come to be in such a way that he valued the third surviving member of their species so little? Yes, Raditz was weak by elite standards, but his power was extremely respectable considering his origins, and he'd only made elite recently as well. He'd never be at the top tier of elites, Nappa was sure. But did that mean he wasn't worth anything at all? An elite was an elite, and if Vegeta expected any surviving Saiyans to measure up to himself or to Nappa, he'd be waiting for a very long time.

Hah. As though there even were any other surviving Saiyans. Nappa pressed his eyes closed for a moment, and saw the fleeting faces of all the comrades he'd lost that day, all the friends that were gone. Saiyans lived for war, but bonds forced in hellfire was the strongest in the universe. It had hurt to have his planet destroyed. To know that so many of his closest allies had burned out in an instant, not even given the chance for a final glorious fight.

Raditz deserved more than to be ignored like they had been. He was Saiyan too, dammit. That meant something. It _had_ to mean something or else everything they were doing was pointless.

"Best go to bed, Nappa." Vegeta said wearily "Tomorrow, I'll break the king and I want us both ready for it. Leave the weakling to his own devices. He'll return when he wants… or else he won't and I'll fail to care either way."

* * *

Kha-Mur moved with all the stealth of a shadow, his passage marked by only an absolute silence. Past guards and doors and automated system. He moved without pause, without halt. Inside, he burned. The magic of the Circle branded now into his soul. He wanted to scream and to laugh, to exalt that he had been chosen above all others. That Mo-Fai had selected him.

Magic flowed through his body like blood, and it was the most wonderful feeling he'd ever had. Alternately, he felt like laughing and screaming. All his hair was standing on end, and his heart was beating so quickly that it felt like it was trying to tear its way free of his chest.

He paused now, standing before the door to the Saiyan's quarters. There were two guards outside it, but he didn't allow them to see him. Strands of wild magic crept from his other and encircled them. He allowed himself a soft chuckle as he put his hand on the door panel and willed it open.

Inside, it was dark. The door hissed closed behind him, and he stood in a total void. He didn't fear the dark. He embraced it. There were four deaths ordered this day, and three of them fell to him. He felt a tiny little thrill, both wishing and yet being glad that he had not been called upon for the second job.

The Saiyans were here, and he could feel them sleeping. Their minds a tangle of violence, thoughts of destruction and memories of past battles. Here, he paused. There were two Saiyans where there should have been three. But he reassured himself that the missing one was the weakest. Roran, the King's dog could hunt him down in time. The two most dangerous fell to Kha-Mur, but who to kill first? The big one with the muscles, or the prince?

He considered for a moment killing the prince and allowing the guard to see his failure. The despair would be delicious, and the thought of it sent fresh shivers racing up his spine. Yes, it would be so easy…

But no, his orders were absolute. Two Saiyans dead. No fights. This was assassination at its finest, and there was no room for personal desire. It was vaguely upsetting that he would not get his sport, but he'd live with it.

In that case, the prince would be first. Take out the most important the most quickly, that was the key. The prince, then the guard.

Then, he'd do a sweep for the third one, and if he didn't find him, Roran would be put on the job.

Lured by his thoughts, Kha-Mur stepped forwards towards the door to Vegeta's room. The panel was locked, but that didn't matter very much when you had this sort of magical power. He opened it, and stepped within. The prince lay before him, the rise and fall of his chest indicating a dee sleep.

Kha-Mur raised a hand, wondering what would be the best spell to use. Mo-Fai had warned him to kill quickly. Nothing showy, he wasn't to wake the second. Lightning, then. Fast and deadly, and the light would be concealed by the now closed door.

One jolt to the heart, and all that famed Saiyan durability would mean nothing at all. Kha-Mur raised his hand, fat sparks already flickering and dancing between his fingers.

And he gave one final chuckle.


	7. Chapter Seven: Escalation

Vegeta moved so quickly that to many lesser races, it would have seemed as though he hadn't moved at all. His eyes flashed open, took in the scene. Even as Kha-Mur's hand extended, flickering bands of lightning dancing along one finger, Vegeta's own hand flashed into position.

There was a blast of light; a sudden heavy thud as a body was thrown back against the wall. Kha-Mur realised belatedly that he had been hit. Blood pooled at his feet now, and he felt himself slowly sliding down the wall; a red trail marked his descent.

 _He was so fast._

His hand felt heavy, slumping down to the ground; there was no pain. There had been no time for pain. Just numbing cold, the realisation that he had been hit. His rich red blood pumping from the gaping wound blown into his chest.

Before him, the Saiyan rose. Smoke still twisted around his extended palm; there was a smirk on his features, and Kha-Mur could see he was clad in the blue body glove that was typically worn under Saiyan style armour. The Saiyan looked down at him; a cold gaze. Relentless and unmoved by his plight. He tried to speak, but his lungs were filling with blood. His vision was going dark at the edges.

 _How could this be? I was promised power… power enough to be able to kill him. Why can't I move? Why can't I fight?_

Vegeta stood next to him now; sweeping a gaze along his body. He gave a note of disapproval.

"I wondered if your coward of a king was going to send someone to kill me. But if you are that person then he has underestimated me greatly. However, I don't think that's the case, is it? Such a pathetic assassin. He'd do much better. He wasn't stupid, just a coward. Who sent you?"

Kha-Mur could still feel the sparking power lodged in his soul; could still taste the acrid current rising in his throat, exploding through his veins. Yet, even as he tried desperately, he could not grasp it. It was as though his fingers were numb, and he could not hold onto the hilt of his blade. The world felt heavy, and he was falling into darkness.

He didn't want to die. More than that, he didn't want to die having failed. Mo-Fai has chosen him from all of his disciplines. He was the best, the very best! He couldn't fail like this! He had to fight, had to gather more power. Had to force through the numbing cold, the siren call of death.

"Answer me, damn it." He felt Vegeta's hand at his throat, hoisting him up so that his feet dangled in the air, and slamming him against the wall again. Fire erupted from his back, and he groaned.

"You think you're hurt now? You think you're dying? Well my friend, you _are_ dying. But not fast, and believe me, I can make that passage a lot more painful if you don't answer my questions. I'm a Saiyan, you know I don't care about you or any petty law of your people. Answer me and die fast, or refuse me and die slowly."

The door opened, and a large figure barrled into the room.

"Prince Vegeta, I-"

"Enough, Nappa. There was an attack. A sad attempt at assassination. I've dealt with it. Your presence is not required."

"I see..." The bald Saiyan moved to the side of his prince, and Kha-Mur felt the prickling stirring hatred as he saw them side by side. The hulking bald one and his demonic prince. Two true monsters; the last of their kind.

His head slumped down, and darkness threatened to take him. All the while the Saiyans talked, as though he didn't matter. As though he'd never even had a chance!

"Do you recognise him, Nappa?"

"No. I don't know this one. They all look alike anyway."

"Hmmp. I'll bring his body to the King later. See what we can find. I wish he'd been a bit stronger. I could have used a challenge."

A challenge… he wasn't even a challenge to them. Not even a diversion. Had he ever really had a chance? Kha-Mur felt a shameful helplessness, and the last of his strength fled.

" **Do you really have such little faith?"** A voice spoke. A voice he knew well. He perked up a little, a slight new strength filling his trembling limbs.

"Mo-Fai..." He moaned.

"What was that?" Vegeta snapped. "A name? Mo-Fai. Nappe, who is that?"

"Sounds familiar." The big Saiyan muttered. "We've heard it before."

"Yes, we have."

Kha-Mur didn't care about what hey were saying; they were a distraction. Mo-Fai's voice filled him; powerful, demanding. Refusing to accept weakness or failure, and filled with confidence and such raw strength that Kha-Mur could not resist it.

" **I have given you power, Kha-Mur, and this is how you use it?"**

"My lord, the Saiyans are too strong… Too fast. I had no chance."

" **Self-deception. You had your chance and you failed to use it. You know this to be true. Your pathetic excuse holds no water. Redeem yourself. Rise and fight."**

"I...I cannot. I am hurt. Dying. My lord, forgive me."

" **Forgiveness is for those who desert it, Kha-Mur. Are you worthy of such a gift? Prove it to me."**

"What can I do…? I am so weak. I have lost the power."

" **No. Power I have granted is not so easily taken. You have felt the strength of the Circle, but you did not realise what it was. You thought that the surface was all that existed. Shall I show you true strength? Shall I plunge you into the depths? It will destroy you, Kha-Mur. But you are dying regardless. Shall I give you one last chance to be worthy?"**

"Yes."

* * *

Vegeta barely had time to brace himself before the room exploded into a torrent of baleful fire. It swept up, like a living thing and lashed out at him. Tendrils of the inferno catching on the floor and the walls. The heat was staggering; and he immediately felt the sweat beading his brow. A tongue of flame flashed towards him. He raised his power, and lashed out with a blast of energy. The flame was broken, and he kicked off into the air.

The heat was still growing. Sweltering. It was becoming harder to breath. He wished he had his scouter on so could find the foe. The roof and walls were on fire as well. The room was burning, twisting and distorting. Nappa was somewhere to his left, the heat had forced him back, and he was blazing with a powerful aura.

"Prince Vegeta!" He shouted. "Come on, let's go!"

Go? Not a chance. He was a Prince of the Saiyan race, and he'd run from no pathetic trick like this. A ball of energy appeared in his palm, and he hurled it towards where the assassin. The detonation shook the room; brought the roof crashing down, and the walls shuddered. The fire faltered for a moment, and Vegeta thought he'd done it.

Then, something climbed from the wreckage. Smoke poured from its body, and its body was singed black. Pulsing red veins, like lave, flowed along its charred flesh. Its chest was cratered from the blow he had landed before.

"So you have a few more tricks after all." Vegeta said. "Maybe you could prove amusing in spite of your earlier failure. let's see how you match this."

He thrust his hand forwards, unleashing a series of blasts, but the figure dodged them, hurling itself to the side. Its own hand spun towards him, and a tongue of flame leapt out to intercept his course. Vegeta dodged to the left; the heat making every hair on his tail stand on end.

 _Strong, but not strong enough to kill me._

"You'll need to do better than that."

It looked at him, twin eyes burning in pain and madness. Its mouth opened and it spoke a single word. As soon as it was uttered, Vegeta felt his body freeze. Agony ripped through his veins, and he cried out. It was as though every cell of his body was burning; whips of fury lashed into his naked back. His blood boiled, and his muscles were melting away. Venom poured through his mind, and fire surged along his flesh.

The creature leapt at him, and he dodged left. Mistake. As soon as he moved, the agony tripled, the sudden fury seared through him, throwing him off. The creature's fist took him in the chest, shock rippled through his body, and he felt pain. As though a naked flame had been shoved against his unguarded skin.

The creature attacked, landing blow after blow. Each hit was like the strike of a comet, his body recoiled from the pain within and without.

What was happening? He didn't understand, but nor did he have time to try. The creature that had once been the assassin struck him again and again, locked in a frenzy of blows. It caught him a punch that snapped his head to the side, his own blood rained upon the sizzling fire. It fought with no strategy, with brute force and raw power, no thought but to kill. He felt his skin begin to bruise, and in fury lashed out. A kick caught the thing in the chest, but as he made contact with the flickering fire that covered it, the impact seemed to melt away. It wasn't harmed at all, and came at him all the harder for it.

"Prince Vegeta!"

"Stay out of this, Nappa!" He snarled, back-peddling furiously under the storm of blows. "I don't need your help and I don't want it! This fool will die by my hand alone."

The creature came at him again, this time lightning crackled along with fire, and even blocking was dangerous. He turned aside a blow only to feel his arm go numb as electriciy raced along it; a spike of pain surged through him and he lashed out again. The creature didn't defend itself, but it didn't need to. Once more, as soon as his blow touched the nimbus of flame around it, the momentum just seemed to vanish.

 _I've never seen this sort of power before. I'm much stronger, and I should be able to win easily. Yet every blow I land is turned aside. Very well then, let's see how it does against another sort of attack._

His aura burned cleanly around him; shifting in hue to purple as he brought his arms together. The internal fire which ravaged his body was eclipsed for a brief moment as he felt the surging, singing energy that he could command.

"Gallick Gun!"

The energy wave burst free from his hands, eagerly rushing forwards towards the fire-creature. It stood for a moment, outlined by the light. The attack washed over it and Vegeta felt the impact shuddering through his attack. The monster tried to hold its ground, digging burning feet intro charring ground. But that same ground crumbled as Vegeta fed more power into the attack. It exploded; the room was obliterated, replacing by searing light. The building shook; somewhere, someone was screaming. Nappa had dodged away, knowing better than to be caught in his prince's attack. Energy seared past him, exploding the outer wall of the palace. Smoke and flame belched from this new opening.

Then, the light cleared. The smoke started to lift. Vegeta waited, measuring his energy reserves. Still plenty left, but it had been a significant attack. Even as he thought this, he dodged back again, more power flowed to his hands.

The monster was still standing.

* * *

The foundations of the palace were shaking. King Era-Sha gripped desperately for the nearest wall, almost thrown from his feet. Around him, the court was in turmoil.

"What's going on?" He demanded. "Someone give me a report!"

"It's the guest quarters, sire!" One of the guards shouted, having reached the wall, and the computer monitor set therein. "The system isn't sure what's happening, but there are a lot of explosions..."

"It's the Saiyans." Era-Sha said, feeling a spike of dread punch through his chest. "They've grown tired of waiting. Send Roran, send as many guards as you can find!"

At his words, panic erupted, the various nobles rushing to gather their enterouges, the captain of the guard shouting for his best soldiers; Roran was nowhere to be found, and runners were sent to look for him. Through it all, Era-Sha stood numbed. Knowing that he was facing the death of his species and everything that he held dear.

 _I was hoping I could buy more time than this. Was I a fool to think that I could hold out against the Saiyans? Against Frieza? All I wanted was for my people to be free. Is that really so bad?_

"My lord?" The captain of the guard said. "The soldiers are dispatched, we should move. There's a safehouse at the in the basement of the palace. You'll be harder to find there."

 _Harder to find._ Era-Sha felt a deep bitterness welling up within him. _Not safe. Nowhere is safe now. The Saiyans will kill us all._

"Sire? My king?" The captain nudged him gently. "Please, we don't have much time. The Saiyans will be coming for you..."

"What does it matter?" Era-Sha snapped. "It's the end anyway."

The captain recoiled.

"Sire, please don't speak like that! You are beloved, and if the people knew that you had died or given up hope, it would reflect poorly on us all! So long as you live, there is a chance. The Saiyans have been repelled before. We have prepared. We can still do this, but we need you to lead us. Don't surrender sire, for all our sakes."

Era-Sha blinked, feeling as though he had been plunged head-first into cold water. He'd been so close to giving up! He felt a horrified realisation. He'd almost surrendered. Almost become his father, the thing he had sworn never to do.

 _Perhaps we die, but we die fighting._

"You're right." He said. "Thank you captain, you're absolutely right. Come with me, we can command the defence from the bunker. Mo-Fai! You're with us as well! And bring six guards, the most elite."

The old adviser in his long cloak and mechanical breather stepped over, gesturing several guards with him as well.

"There's a hidden elevator on the next level." The captain said. "We can ride it to the bunker. Let's move."

Move they did; as quickly as they could. The tower shook around them; whining and groaning like a thousand tones of stone suddenly in terrible pain. From somewhere above, smoke bellowed, and alarms were wailing. They rushed through corridors containing tapestries depicting a thousand years of history, and he wondered if it was all going to be wiped away now.

The captain was to his left, wielding a blaster in one hand. His armour was burnished gold, rather useless but for display. Nevertless, he moved like a veteran, and he had spoken enough sense to snap Era-Sha out of his daze. To his right, Mo-Fai. Silent and implacable as ever. A source of fierce strength despite his aged form. He was timeless, had stood with king after king. It was as though so long as Mo-Fai was with him, so stood every lord he had served.

And Roran was out there too…

Yes, they weren't done yet. Not even nearly.

Together they reached the elevator and hurried within. The metal doors closed swiftly. It was a roomy elevator, and they all had space. The Captain keyed in their destination, but only once they started to move did Era-Sha ponder on the potential folly of using an elevator when the building itself was under so much strain.

Seeking partially to disteact himself, the King started to talk.

"Once we reach the bunker, we'll power up the defences." He said. "The siege-towers set in the city can be manned and ordered to target the palace. Between the four of them, there is enough fire power to obliterate the entire building. If the Saiyans survive that, we'll have the army meet them, they'll be winding and confused. We need to overwhelm them before they can get their heads together."

"My lord." The captain said. "If you destroy the palace… the bunker will endure, but everyone else will die."

Era-Sha's fists clenched tightly.

"I know." He snapped. "But with the Saiyans here, they're dead either way. I pray their spirits will forgive me, but if the Saiyans realise our plan, they'll be ready for it and we won't have a chance. Find Roran. If he's not in the palace, put him in charge of the military attack. If he is in the palace… tell him to get out if he can."

"And if he can't?"

"Tell him….Tell him I'm sorry it had to end like this, and ask him if he can distract the Saiyans for a little bit. Tell him also I will understand if he chooses to flee. We are not his people."

"He will not flee." Mo-Fai said. "He will fight. For Roran, death has no fear for he has died already. He died long ago with his people. For the time since that, he has been but a walking corpse. He will welcome the chance to bring Vegeta to his doom."

"Are you sure?" The King asked. "I need to be positive. I'm asking him to die for us..."

"I know." Mo-Fai said. "Tell me, my lord, did I ever tell you of my own race?"

Despite the danger, despite the risk, and the terrible timing, Era-Sha was curious. To his knowledge, no king had ever learned Mo-Fai's race, nor where he ahd come from. Even the oldest books of history seemed simply to take his presence as a given.

"I don't believe that you have." Era-Sha said. "Did they fall victim to the Saiyans?"

"No." Mo-Fai gave a wizened chuckle. "Our time was long before the Saiyans ever learned how to claw their way free of the atmosphere of the mud-hole they call a world. There were never many of us, you know. Even at the start we were a race apart even from our own people. Only one in a thousand was like me. Like us.."

"What do you mean, Mo-Fai? Like you how?"

"Well, let me put it this way. There were those who were warriors, there were those who were farmers, and those who were magicians. But only a few transcended all these casts. These were the ones who learned to unlock their full power. We were conquerors, warlords amongst the stars. You think the Saiyans were bad? We were worse! Stronger! Immune to sickness! Slow to age! We soaked the stars in blood, Era-Sha. It still brings warmth to my heart…

"The rest of our race exiled us for our crimes. But we didn't care about them. Foolish. Weak. Unable to embrace their true potential. It was envy that forced their hand. They looked at us and knew fear, for we were all that they could not be. So to the stars we went, and waged our wars, forged our empires. Some of us became brothers, others enemies. But we were as gods. Even Frieza himself could not have stopped us all!"

"I've never heard you talk like this before, Mo-Fai." Era-Sha said. "Soaked the stars in blood? Conquerors? Forged empires? What is all of this madness, why do you bring it before me now?"

"It is the truth, my king." Era-Sha said. "It is important that you understand now while you have the chance. While I am still able to explain. You see, I said that we were gods, but there was one thing we could not defeat. Time itself. One by one, we fell. In battle, to age, to accident or to murder. Like a glorious nova, we lingered only for a little while. Until only a few of us were left. We were ancient by then, most of our power was gone, so we sought a way to survive. I do not know of the others. Perhaps they found a way. Perhaps they died and I am alone. But I do know what I found, oh mighty king."

Mo-Fai reached upwards, and there was a hiss as his breather was disconnected. It fell forwards, hanging around his scrawny neck. The King could see his face properly for the first time. He was truly ancient. Wrinkled and blotched. His skin was pale, but here or there existed hints of green. Mo-Fai took a deep, rasping breath. His lungs labouring heavily.

"I found a world… this world. So ripe for use. We were many things, as I said. Warrior, planner, magician. In magic I found my solution. My power to drink the lives of others, refined over centuries. But all of the lives I had available then could only sustain me. I lived, but could not recover. My powers faded slowly, ever so slowly… you do not know what it is like to be a god and fall from grace so thoroughly!"

He coughed, his whole frame shaking as his body vibrated painfully. He spat dark blood, and looked up.

"My time is nearly up." He said. "I cannot speak much longer, so I will cut short the tale. By ending the lives of others, I grow stronger. But the lives of weaklings are not worth so very much, and even those with potential are little in the end. I needed powerful lives. Lives that burned like a sun. So when I heard of the arrival of the Saiyans, you can imagine my glee. Lives such as those would be a feast that I have not enjoyed in hundreds of years. Lives strong enough not only to halt my decline, but to reverse it! With those three Saiyan lives, I will at last be strong enough to leave this world. With that strength, I will hunt others. I will regain all that I have lost!

"But of course, as I am now, I cannot stop one Saiyan never mind three. So I needed a plan. Fortunately, you provided one, I just had to change it a little bit. Stir the world into frenzy, blame the Saiyans. Let the blood spill, the bodycount rise. And each soul that falls within my domain leavers a little bit of itself to me. It's taken time, but I've spread my net across the whole palace. For everyone who dies, I will grow stronger. Temporary strength from weaklings, but long enough for me to capture the Saiyans. Those, I shall not kill. I shall hold them in my power, and draw every trace of energy from them.

"But for this to happen, you must die, Era-Sha. For this, I apologise, for I did not dislike you. But you see, as the captain told you, you are beloved, and your death will drive the killing frenzy from which I will feed. Your city will die. Your army will die. The Saiyans will die, and your planet will die. But I will be free. Rejoice in that you are serving a grander purpose."

"Do you really think I am going to let you do that?" Snapped Era-Sha, still reeling from the shock of betrayal. "Guards, kill him!"

"They cannot." Mo-Fai said. "I still have some power, particularly over the weak minded. You should not have allowed me to choose your escort, Era-Sha. They can't help you now."

"But I can."

The captain of the guard surged forwards, slamming the butt of his blaster into Mo-Fa's gut. The ancient alien doubled up in pain, and the captain back-handed up across the room. He hit the far wall with a cry. As soon as there was enough space, the captain raised his gun and took aim.

Twin beams of purple light flashed from Mo-Fai's eyes, striking him in the chest and bursting into flames. He staggered back, and then tried to sight again, but Mo-Fai threw forwards an arm, and it extended, gripping the blaster from across the room and hurling it aside. The captain of the guard had no time to be astounded; his lord was in danger. He surged forwards with a cry; tearing free the ceremonial blade he wore as a side-arm.

The next blast of purple beams from Mo-Fai tore through his chest. He doubled up in pain, and Mo-Fai smashed an elbow into the back of his head. Dazed and agonised, he went down. Mo-Fai stamped down hard and broke his neck. For a moment, he stood there. Breathing heavily, rasping.

"Damn." he snarled to himself. "That was far too close. Your captain was a good man, I did not think it would take such effort to overpower him like that. I have not had to use such energy in a very long time. But with his death, I grow stronger. Rejoice in that his strength is not wasted. His death served a purpose."

Era-Sha could not move. His muscles refused to obey even as Mo-Fai turned back towards him, his eyes glittering with energy.

"As will yours, mighty king. If it comforts you, I will tell them that you were defiant to your last breath."

Era-Sha bowed his head to wait for death.

And felt the most complete despair he'd ever experienced in his life.

* * *

Vegeta dodged under a swift blow and countered, once more feeling his attack negated. The agony burning inside him was getting stronger, and he kicked away as the creature tried to grab him. The former assassin was not tiring, he did not seem to slow, nor did he feel pain. His fiery aura absorbed all damage, and Vegeta was starting to run out of options quickly. He dodged back, nimbly evading another wild swipe, but the need to do so tore at his pride.

 _There must be some weakness I can exploit in this creature. It's galling that it has managed to last so very long. I am the Prince of all Saiyans, and I won't be made a fool of by such a clown._

The monster hissed, lava drooling from its open maw. Any trace of an intelligent being had long since been erased from it, and still it came on. Leaping and howling, fighting him, trying to pin him down. He struck back, hammering two blows into its gut with all his strength, and the fire flickered for a moment. There was an opening, and he spun a kick into its face. This time, it staggered back, but a moment later, the fire ignited again.

Vegeta felt a cruel smile twist his features.

"I know how to hurt you now, monster. I can break your shield."

It howled, and directed a whip of flame to lash out at his back. He ducked low, letting it fly over his head and unleashed a series of energy blasts which pushed the creature far into the guts of the building. Cement and stone cracked and broke around it, someone was screaming but he didn't care. This was what it meant to be a Saiyan and he loved it.

"Come on then, you sad excuse for an assassin. You're an even worse fighter than you were a hired killer."

It screamed, wings of fire erupted from its back and it joined him in the air. He ducked and dance, wove an elaborate pattern around it. It wasn't hard. The thing was clumsy and slow. But strong as well, as he learned anew when it caught him, and threw him into the far wall. This time, it was him who was showered in rubble, and then he was through the wall. Cold water poured over him as momentum carried him through one of the mid-air rivers that the Erashans liked to put everywhere. Instantly, the fire in him cooled to nothing, but he had no time to take that into account. The monster barrelled out after him. It opened its mouth and projected a torrent of flame; he dodged to the left, but it predicted him and the fire washed over him. He snarled in pain, and forced as much energy into a protective barrier as he could. Even so, he felt it crack and weaken, the heat projecting through it. His skin started to singe, his hair to turn.

"No!"

He detonated the barrier, filling the air with a rushing explosion of energy. In an instant, the flame was scattered, and he lanced forwards. His fist buried itself deep into the creature's chest, its nimbus dimmed but did not die. It cut a fiery wound across his cheek in return, and the two broke apart again.

He lashed out with an underhanded blast of Ko, the explosion rocked the monster, its aura flickered. A second blast cratered its chest, a third punctured its leg. Then, the protection was regained. He could see its body flowing and regenerating.

A healer.

He hated fighting healers.

He darted forwards, his image flickering with the speed of his attack. He smashed two more strikes into its back, one into its leg, and a final one to its throat. It showed no signs of pain and retaliated by driving a killing blow into his chest which forced the air from his lungs. Fire raced along his body, but he didn't let it settle, flushing energy into the air and lancing a beam at the monster. It side-stepped, and a portion of the palace behind it was obliterated in a flash of searing light.

Despite his focused rage, Vegeta was no simple berserker. He knew the creature's tactic now. It was wearing him down. He was stronger and faster, yes. But so long as he did not have a way to end the fight, it would eventually tire him. Thoughts of flight were quickly eliminated. He was a Saiyan, and would not run from such a being.

But he did need an alternate strategy.

His thoughts turned to how the water had quenched the fire raging within his body, and even as the monster threw itself at him again, he decided to take the chance. He dodged around, and lashed out with a kick to its back. There was no damage, but it was knocked back to the water fall. Vegeta surged forwards, the monster tried to guard, but he effortlessly flowed around the clumsy block and planted a fist in its gut. Suddenly, the around him exploded into flames, and he felt his skin begin to burn. Fuelled by pain and rage, his fist lashed out, closing around the monster's neck.

"I am Vegeta!"

Its hands lashed at him, burning him where they touched. He could smell the sickly scent of his own cooking flesh. His free hand smashed into its gut, but the pain wouldn't stop. The fire had gotten ahold of him, and it erupted along his back. Even then he refused to yield, driving the thing into the water. It shrieked, the first sign of pain that it had truly given. Smoke curled up around it. Around them both, and yet it was not yet dead. Its burning eyes met his, and there was hatred there.

He returned it.

"I am the Prince of all Saiyans!"

He smashed a blow into it, driving all his stretch into its gut. The water countered its shield, and he felt its flesh tear. The two of them were falling now, covered by flame and smoke and steam, fighting as they went. The creature's claws tore at him, his wounds throbbed, but he did not relent.

"I am an elite Saiyan Warrior!"

Together, they hit the ground; the water pouring in torrents around them, the two of them struggled to gain control. Each trying to rise to the top. There was no skill now; it was strength against strength, will against will. It clawed and tore at his skin, and he was bleeding, but its own shield was down. It was hurt and desperate.

"And you, monster?"

He managed to get to the top, and threw a savage punch which knocked its head back with such force that it dented the ceramic pound into which the river flowed.

" _You!"_

He hammered it again, driving all his strength into the blow, bone broke beneath it, but the monster still writhed.

 _"Are!"_

A third hit, even stronger if that was possible. The ground below them cratered, the water poured and writhed, steam rose from where they fought. The monster kicked out and nearly unseated him, but he used that to fuel his rage.

" _Nothing!"_

The fourth hit, and the creature finally broke. Its ribs crumpled under his assault, his fist spearing through its chest, fingers rapping around its beating heart. With a roar Vegeta tore it free, ripping the organ from the monster's body with a savage cry of victory. It writhed for a moment more, and then went still. The body started to crumble away, like a fire which had burned down to nothing. Vegeta rose, dropping the heart.

Vegeta was bleeding. Wounded in several places, and winded from the battle. Yet even so, he wanted to laugh, for he had fought a powerful foe and triumphed. His Saiyan blood was afire. He looked back at where the beast had been.

"Not a bad fight, I suppose."

"Prince Vegeta!" Nappa landed at his side. "Are you all right? You're hurt, my prince!"

"Don't be a nanny, Nappa." Vegeta said. "Of course I'm hurt. I am a warrior. I have bled before, and will bleed again. This creature however will not."

Nappa grinned. "I apologise Prince Vegeta. Still, it was a good fight, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't too bad I suppose. More than I expected from this miserable planet."

Suddenly, a bright light broke the darkness. The palace guard had spilled from the broken building and were now taking up formation around the Saiyans. Idly, Vegeta guessed there were a hundred of them at least, with heavy weapons and vehicles as well. He gestured to Nappa to do nothing yet, and stepped forwards.

"Is this how you treat your honoured guests?" He snarled. "With weapons and assassins? Your king should be ashamed!"

"The King is dead!" The leader of the soldiers snarled. "And soon, you will be as well. Attack! Kill them both!"

Nappa and Vegeta just had time to share a single look before the position that they held was littered with clusters of explosions.


	8. Chapter Eight: Unfolding Arms

In the capital city of the world of Erasha, there was a bar. Well, actually, there were many bars. It being quite a large city, and serving various form of clientèle from the rich to the poor, and all those who slotted so neatly in-between.

However, _this_ bar was different.

It was a small place, quite alien to what you'd expect had you heard the rumours about it. It wasn't the sort of place that nice boys and girls were supposed to go to; it was dirty, infamously so in fact. There was a constant, low-grade screed from the screens mounted on the walls which flickered through channel after channel, seemingly intent on nothing less than a full cacophony of meaningless sound. This virtual barrier of sound intermixed with the chattering of the patrons, making it nigh impossible for anyone to hear much of anything if you weren't standing quite close by. Smarter patrons might have wondered if that was the point, but most didn't bother. It wasn't that such thoughts were beyond them, but rather a case where most simply did not care.

After all, you didn't come to a bar to think about the acoustics, did you?

The smell was next. Often the first thing to hit you when you walked in through the sliding doors, the smell was rich and strong,. Stinking alcohol, and unwashed bodies. Though many parts of the city had been cleaned up by the King's unspoken drive towards modernisation, this wasn't one of them, and the bar remained stubbornly defiant in the face of the inevitable victory of modernity. The tables were laid out in no particular orders; they were small, only barely enough to house two people and their drinks. Some of them were made of wood, others of metal, and a few were even stainless steel. There was no real pattern, and it seemed as though the owner had simply grabbed (or stolen) any that had caught their fancy at the time.

The place was packed; the bustle of many bodies, and the low rumble of intensely debated conversation filled the room. Unusually for this place, the clients weren't all sitting at their own tables, talking amongst themselves. This was odd for several reasons, but one of the most pressing of them was the fact that most of the people who came to drink here regularly tended to be the sort who wanted to keep to themselves for various reasons. Usually owing to money (that they had more of it than they strictly should) theft (Really, it wasn't stealing so much as re-distributing) or the occasional bloody murder (Anything done for the right price.)

The man behind the bar was an old hand at this sort of thing. Fifty years old, and his hair was grey-white with age. His face was wrinkled, and jolly-looking so long as you didn't catch the glint in his eyes. If you were quick enough to do just that, and to understand what you had seen, you might describe him as cold, a mirthless person who thrived on the suffering of others. But you probably wouldn't want to do that. At least not within earshot of him. Because this wasn't a man from the shiny new Erasha that the King was promoting, and he tended not to take too well to insults or degradations. Blood for blood and word for word, that was the old code. The old way that had been so brutally prosecuted in modern times. By the police, the military and even the royal guard. But it had survived, pushed back into the most seedy, corrupt and ill-omened places, it had even managed to thrive.

The man behind the bar was someone who had lived his life by that code, and though he did not have an official name as such, he answered to Thranx. Usually, he was quite happy to see a bar so full. The drinks sold here weren't cheap, for it was in its own way, an exclusive place. Though, it was not the drink or food that drew in the customer. Rather, it was that this was a place to see and be seen. To a certain type of person, credibility had to be maintained, one had to be visible, to be seen as strong. And while you were waiting, why not have a bite to eat? Something to drink? Even the hardest, coldest murderer needed to eat sometimes. Thranx had made a tidy little profit off the whole thing for years now, and under normal circumstances would have been thrilled to see so many scarred, worn or dirty faces in his establishment. No, the tiny but growing knot of anxiety that was currently taking up a good portion of his chest wasn't to do with that. It was to do with something else.

Someone else.

Sitting in one of the chairs in the far corner of the room, there was a man. This wasn't in and of itself unusual; he served plenty of men. No, what had first set him off was that despite the crowded nature of the bar, there was a gulf of space between his table and anyone else. As though the great sea of Erashans had parted before him, and no one seemed able or willing to look him in the eye. Men and women that Thranx knew were ruthless murderers, serial killers or career-criminals cowered and paled when he glanced at them. His own eyes were dark and clouded, but mocking for it. His lips peeled back in an eternal sneering gesture. He was sitting with a bottle on the table, the empty remnants of several more scattered at his feet. Yet he did not seem to be drunk, though he was making a good attempt to become so. Thranx watched him with growing concern. He knew a killer when he saw one, and this man was surely nothing else.

And if all that wasn't enough, there was the fact that he was clad in battle-armour reminiscent of the stuff of nightmares, and the furry belt wrapped around his waist was in fact no belt at all.

A Saiyan.

Thranx had heard legends of them, of course. Who hadn't? The terrible monsters that worked for Frieza. That wiped out any world that so much as offended the overlord. As a criminal himself, and an accomplished one too, Thranx had to tip his hat to Frieza. After all, who else had gotten the housing racket thing to extend to whole planets? In a way, he mused that Frieza was not unlike his usual regulars. Just on a much grander scale. In that case though, that left the worrying conclusion that one of the enforcers of such a deadly crime boss was sitting in his establishment right now. Thranx felt a beat of sweat draw a cold line down his brow. It wasn't that he scared, he told himself. It was just that he wasn't used to being in the same room as someone who could kill everyone in the building faster than he could probably reach for his gun.

Said gun was holstered at his side even now. Held there by an old leather strap; it was a well-worn army model that he'd acquired some years ago. More stopping power than the stuff that was sold on the streets but Thranx wasn't going to try to fool himself about its ability to harm a Saiyan.

The viewscreens were flickering as usual. They were old, and he'd never bothered to do much to replace them. He'd honestly even considered them part of the feel of the bar. As though the fact that they were grimy and prone to static was just part of the atmosphere he wanted to build. Expected of such a place, even.

Not right now though. Right now, he was dividing his time between glaring at the screens, and sneaking looks at he Saiyan. An image of the Royal Palace was visible when the screens were in the mood to show it. Flickering with static-tinged fingers, it nevertheless painted a picture he did not want to see. There was smoke rising from the side, fire in the distance. A reporter was standing before the camera, speaking words with a solemn and hurried tone. The people of the bar were listening, creating what might otherwise have been a silence unnatural to such a place as they leaned forwards as one. Eyes and ears trained on the screen. The same thoughts running through the minds of killer, thief and dealer alike.

 _Is it the Saiyans? Have they gone too far and attacked the palace? What are we going to do now if they have?_

A sense of deep unease, and deeply hidden fears was starting to engulf the room. The crowd hadn't quite gotten caught up in it yet, but Thranx was an expert at reading people. He had to be to have survived for so long. He knew it was only a matter of time. What then? Again, his hand moved to the pistol holstered at his side.

And once more, his eyes turned to the Saiyan in their midst, grinning his cocky grin, and eyeing the screens with every sign of enjoyment.

* * *

The hall was full of smoke, and for the first time, Siin-Sur knew that she was going to die. It was a creeping knowledge. A sort of slow realization, a chilling nibb;le at the edge of her conscious mind which she did her best to ignore. Like spines of ice being driven into her body one by one, it became harder and harder by the moment.

 _She was going to die._

 _She was going to die._

 _She was going to die!_

She thundered along the corridor, ignoring the smoke streaming from the priceless tapestries, the hot air lashing against her back. Crackling and roaring, the sound of her inevitable end pressing in on all sides. Tears streamed down her face, and she was coughing. Smoke swirled around her, casting her into dream-like haze. It felt hard to move, and just putting one foot in front of the other was a herculean task. She powered on; running as fast as she could, but no matter how quickly she went, the fire behind her was all the faster. Roaring and rushing like a thing alive, it followed her, burning the tapestries with its crimson touch. The flames dancing, the sounds it made twisted by her smoke-maddened ears into mocking laughter.

 _She was going to die._

 _She was going to die._

When she couldn't run anymore, she staggered to a stop. Gasping, her chest heaved, her lungs begging, pleading to be allowed something that wasn't tainted with smoke and smog. Pain shot through her arms and legs, and she gasped. Her head felt light and distant, the crackle of the fire was all around her. Her beat beat quickly. Instinct screaming at her to run, to dart like some animal chased by a predator. But where was there to run to? She would not escape the flame.

 _Where's the fire system? Why isn't it doing anything?_ That thought was dim, pushed to the edge of her mind by the need to escape, but even so, it was there. Flickering faintly, a last bastion of logical thought amidst a sea of panic and terror. There should have been water by now. The smoke should have set off the alarm, should have doused the whole area in water. Why hadn't it happened? Why was the tower shaking? Every now and then, she could hear thumps and bangs, the echoing calls of explosions both distant and yet pertinent. What was happening? Had something else triggered the fire? Was the alarm system offline? Part of her hoped so, for it was the only chance for salvation that she had.

 _She was going to die._

 _She was going to die._

She closed her eyes, forcing the scent of burning away from her nose, trying to focus, to think clearly in spite of the dancing flames and whirling ash.

 _She wasn't going to die. She was in danger, but so long as she didn't surrender and lay down, she could still make it out. She just had to focus, just had to remember her training. Just had to want t live._

 _Come on, girl!_ She snarled at herself. _Come on, this isn't what you left home for! This isn't why you put up with so much in the big city, and it damn well isn't why you and your family still aren't talking after three years! Get up and move!  
_

She did just that. Forcing her body to motion. Her legs didn't want to work, but she egged them on. Ignoring the spikes of pain which jolted through protesting muscles. Ignoring how each step was a harder task than the last, how her strength seemed to ebb away, like water between the fingers of a clasped hand.

It couldn't end like this. A small part of her mind mused as she ran that it seemed like such a cliché thing to say, but she'd always wanted more. More than this, more than she had. That was why she'd left her town, so small and primitive compared to the big city. That was why she'd been so happy to adopt the stance of the King when he declared that magic was a thing of the past, unneeded and illogical. A shadow of the ancient days, when terror and darkness haunted the hearts and minds of good, solid people. She remembered the last day, the argument with her mother, who had been so sure and stubborn.

" _Magic is real.." She said. "Can't you see it, girl? Can't you feel it? It doesn't become less true just because of the words of some king."_

Siin-Sur hadn't seen it like that, of course. She'd been young then. Fired up by the brilliant light of the future. Of reaching out and becoming something more in the city. She'd said things, things she probably shouldn't have. Things which still made her cringe in the deepest parts of her soul. But what was said was said, and it couldn't be taken back no matter how much she wished that wasn't the case. What was done was done, and you didn't get a redo just because you thought you could do it better now. All you could do was keep going. Keep living, keep walking.

 _Keep running!_

As she ran, her hand went to a pocket in her jeans. She felt her fingers close around something hard and cold, metallic to the touch and yet it had somehow escaped the chocking heat. By the feel of it alone, she knew what it was. It was the symbol of protection that the Saiyan had given her as a joke. She'd never gotten rid of it. Never really gotten around to it, she'd just stashed it away, intending to do so later.

Now, she drew it out. Seeing the glittering loops of metal, the false promise of magical safety. Her mother's words haunted her mind, but what good was this trinket against the flame? What kind of power would swoop down upon her, and bear her away to safety? There was no such power. There was no such thing as magic. It was a symbol of an empty promise. It had no power here. Nothing did but her own legs, her will to live, and the ticking clock which counted down so cruelly to the moment where that will would no longer be able to shield her.

 _Move! Move!_

In the distance, she could see something. It was smoke-wreathed, hazy and hard to define. For a few seconds, she was sure she was simply seeing things. Her mind inventing images of hope where none could be. But it grew firmer as she closed the distance, the smoke insubstantial. It was the door! A sealed slab of solid metal, pressurized and able to keep out the flame. Her heart rose, and she put on a new burst of speed. The fire licked at her behind, the smoke trailed around her like the tendrils of a hunting predator. She could hear the crackling, and it was only too easy to imagine that in addition to the sound of melting metal, there was the more sinister evidence of crackling bone in there as well. How many other people had been caught in the flame? How many others had failed to escape?

Too many, without a doubt far too many.

She kept running. The door was close now, she was always there! Almost safe! Her hopes soared as slammed into it, almost unable to stop herself. Her legs were weak, and she half-collapsed, her arms wrapping around the console that keyed the entrance. Gasping and gagging in equal measure, she used it to pull herself up. The keyboard swam before her; her red-rimmed eyes stinging and unable to focus.

Working as swiftly as she could, she keyed her code into the door. Seconds passed, ticking by with all the ease and grace of a defiant ice age. Then, the screen flashed. Glowing words of red light reflected across her face, and she grew pale.

 _Denied. Lockdown in effect._

"No." She whispered, keying the code in again. Hoping that by some miracle it would work this time. It didn't, of course. Same response. Lockdown in effect. She clenched her fists, fighting against the urge to scream in despair and terror. The alert system _had_ noticed the fire. It was just that the sprinklers were knocked out. So the computer had done the logical thing and sealed off the damaged sections. Contained safely within those cordons, the fire could burn itself with no harm done to the greater building.

Too bad for those like herself who were caught behind the doors, but then, as far as the cold logical mind of the computer went, they were already dead. Her head was spinning, the flames were growing closer. Her eyes were watering so much now that she could barely see, and her head felt tight and dizzy, as though her brain would explode out of her skull.

There was only one more thing she could do. Desperately, she entered a second, different code. This one theoretically opening a channel to the security hub. There was long moment, and then she saw a green light wink on in the screen. Connection established!

"This is Siin-Sur!" She shouted at the computer, hoping it would indeed be true to its word and carry her message to those who might yet aid her. "I'm trapped in corridor G9, the fire is getting closer. I can't breath, please, send help. If you don't do something, I'm going to die. I can't save myself, there's nothing more I can do. Please, you have to help..."

She felt the console fall away from her numbing fingers. The smoke was all around her, and she could see nothing else. Shadows played at the edges of her vision, and the last sound she heard was the mocking laughter of the victorious flame.

* * *

Explosions rippled in their wake like a tide of coalescent power. They trailed fire and smoke like a comet trails dust, ignoring the many corridors which flashed past them in a blur of motion. Tapestries of by-gone eras, the stern faces of distant rulers, perhaps even the visage of the one who had first bent the knee to Frieza. All there and gone in less than a second, not even worth a sideways glance as the two Saiyans cut their way deeper into the body of the palace. Nappa laughed as he fought; the boisterous, booming laughter of a Saiyan warrior at his best. Halloed by the detonations he caused, and leaving a trail of destruction at his aft, the bald warrior was truly in his element and he knew it. His heart pounding, his blood pumping, he felt _alive_ for the first time since they're got here and he loved it.

Guards were closing on them again. The corridors of the palace were too tight for evasion to be much of a tactic anyway. Early on, they'd tried to lock them down by sealing the metal doors which marked the connection-point of the corridors, but that didn't matter to two Saiyans of their power. With a simple blast of energy, or a series of thunderous blows, each time the way had been cleared and they had proceeded on. This time, the guards had come with better weapons. They were clad in high-tech armour, wielding focused rifles intended to burn through the Ki of even the strongest of warriors.

Nappa grinned down at them.

 _Pathetic. Do they really think those are going to mean a thing? Do they really think this'll stop us after the big party outside didn't even slow us down?_

He glanced at Vegeta, the seeking some sign of good, honest blood-lust in the young prince's face. But Vegeta was taciturn, his lips pressed closely together. His eyes were flinty and cold, no matter how much the fighting around him raged. What was he thinking? Nappa didn't know, and that bothered him. It wasn't exactly that he was used to being able to read the Prince of his kind. In fact, it hadn't been for a very long time that he was able to truly second-guess what his leader was trying to accomplish. Vegeta's goals were distant ones as far as Nappa was concerned, and he didn't much like anyone else nosing in on them. Well, that was all fine and good, and Vegeta was his prince so Nappa's support was more or less guaranteed.

Nevertheless, it disturbed him a little to see how detached Vegeta was from the current scene. Battle was to be enjoyed, to be savoured and drawn out. That was the fundamental core of what it meant to be a Saiyan. So why did Vegeta seem so detached? Why was he treating it all like a bother?

These questions, and many more besides, had played across the bald Saiyan's mind several times in the last few years. Vegeta took no council save his own, and Nappa knew that his own brand of brash aggression was not the sort of tactical direction that Vegeta tended to take much stock in. Honestly, it left him feeling a little helpless at times… he'd done so much, and become so strong, yet Vegeta towered above him in powers and goals. It was only fitting that the ruler of the Saiyan race be the strongest of them, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like the rest of it…

He lashed out, power fuelled by the inner turmoil that he was experiencing. The explosion shook the tower; pairing with another one which had bloomed only seconds before. The walls shook even as the light consumed the foolish guards who had tried to stop them. For a moment, Nappa wondered if he'd overdone it a little. Fighting inside a building like this annoyingly limiting, and he had to keep dialling back the destruction of his attacks if he didn't want the whole palace brought down around him. He'd have been only too happy for that to happen but…

He glanced at Vegeta again, seeking some sign of the boy he once knew in that cold face. It sent a shiver down his spine.

With the guards dead, the two of them sped further on. They'd made it past the bulk of the enemy by now, having doubtless decimated their ranks. Well-ordered formations and dug-in defensive outpost had become scattered survivors fighting from anywhere they felt they had an edge. Hopelessly, they threw themselves at the Saiyans. Lasers and other weapons spat out at them, but were brushed aside by their power, or dodged, or sometimes just ignored.

"What does Lord Frieza even want with a place like this?" Nappa scoffed, obliterating another group with a wave of his hand. "They can't even fight. What use are they?"

"Techs, Nappa." Vegeta surprised him by actually answering. "The Erashans have good ship-building capabilities, and their own technology is somewhat more advanced than the default in this part of the galaxy. He wants them alive and intact, so don't get carried away."

"Heh." Nappa gave a savage grin. "So you still think you can make them back down, even after all this?"

"Of course." Vegeta crossed his arms, still flying, the two of them had broken into yet another of what seemed like an infinite maze of corridors. Automated defences – turrets, shields and mines – roared into life, and then shortly thereafter left it again. The smoke rising from a dozen points around him, Vegeta casually landed by the door to the next section of the corridor. "In some ways, this makes it easier, I suppose."

"Ah, I see." Nappa nodded. "I get what you're saying now. We find this King, drag him out, and make him agree to go back the old fashioned way." He paused for a moment, remembering what he had seen of the King of the Erashans. He'd been an old man, and Nappa had taken him for a fool, but Vegeta himself had declared otherwise, hadn't he? Old and worn, but stubborn, and not much left to lose…

"What if we can't make him go back? What do we do if he refuses to sign back under Frieza even once we're right in his face?" His hand twitched, muscles pulling in his fingers at the anticipation of a killing blow on the king. Feeling his flesh peel, his boil as it was saturated with raw power. A good kill, but useless if it wasn't proceeded by what they wanted.

"The King is a fool of a different sort than the others." Vegeta stated without a hint of doubt. "But a fool is still a fool, and I can still press his buttons. Even if his own life doesn't hold any meaning for him, the survival of his people will. This will world will be our hostage."

"Yeah, I like the sound of that." Something else occurred to him then, and Nappa felt his face twist into a frown. A knife of anxiety scything through the glorious haze of combat for a moment. "But you said before that Frieza might decide that he can turn this on us… If he thinks we're to blame here..."

"There's nothing else for it at this point." Vegeta nodded, and at last Nappa began to see why he was being so cold even in the midst of a fight. He was already planning for a greater battle ahead. He'd theorised before that Frieza might try to turn any turbulence back on the Saiyans, using it as a reason to punish them, or even destroy them and making the Erashans much more willing in their servitude. If they saw it as protection instead of enslavement, well, that was exactly the sort of game Frieza liked to set up while he was bored. Nappa felt the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up, as though in anticipation of a sudden blow from behind. Of course, if that blow did come, he would be unlikely to be able to avoid it so easily.

Vegeta took note of the grim look on his face, of the way his frenzied snarl gave way quickly to a more sober scowl of recognition.

"So you see the situation we're in then, Nappa." He said. "It's not what I wanted at all, but we can salvage it if we're careful. Frieza wants this world, and he wants its industries intact. We deliver that. We deliver proof that we were not the ones to begin hostilities – that shouldn't be too hard, I have no doubt they were spying on us in some capacity – and then, we show him that after all that, we still completed the mission to the best of our abilities."

Vegeta's face twisted into a disgusted sneer as he spoke, and though he didn't verbalise the second part of that sentence, Nappa heard it anyway.

'' _We show him that we did what he wanted anyway, like good little dogs''_ Even as he did so, he felt that same intense flash of shame and anger, relentless fury that had no means of being released. Frieza was so powerful, so beyond them. If he thought for even a moment they were less than loyal, it would be over. But even so, such a servile attitude rubbed him the wrong way.

 _Maybe it would be better if we had died._ He snarled in the privacy of his own mind. _Rather than be reduced to this! If the Old King could see us now…_

"Nappa!" Vegeta snapped, cutting his focus back to the present. Nappa blinked, seeing that Vegeta had taken several steps closer to him while he was musing on the unfairness of the Saiyans' fate.

"There's no time for self-pity." Vegeta told him, his young voice voice nevertheless ringing with the authority of a king. "The Saiyans aren't dead. Not while we two yet live. And while that's the case, we're not going to give up either, is that understood?"

"But Prince Vegeta, I-"

"No buts, Nappa. If you're going to contemplate the ultimate fate of our race, at least does so with an eye towards avenging it. That's the least that would be expected of us now."

Without another word, Vegeta swept past him, moving towards the door at the end of the corridor. It was a big, heavy set thing of gleaming metal. Clearly reinforced, intended to take a beating. Much more so than any of the others they'd come across so far. They were getting close then…

Nappa stood silently for another long moment. Watching as Vegeta held out a hand, a blast of Ki volleyed from his palm, the door buckled but did not give way fully. Nappa felt his empty hand curl into a fist, feeling that same old rage ignite again in his soul. Vegeta was right. It was easy to be distracted by the facts of the situation, but the truth was that they and Raditz were the last of the Saiyans. Probably the last of them in all the universe.

Was he going to just sit here and let one of the last Saiyans wallow in despair and self-pity? Not while there were still foes to be killed. Not while there was still work to be done. Maybe they were the last of their kind; maybe after them, there would be no more. The Saiyan race might well be consigned to the mists of history, becoming a fairytale, a monster story, a horror fable told and retold by generations yet to be.

But if that was their fate, he made a solemn oath here and now.

Whatever their fate was to be, Frieza would share it. And if they went down in history as a race of monsters, it would be as a race of monsters who in their last act had carved their name across the stars in the blood of an even greater beast. Whether they were remembered with fear or awe or plain, bowel-knotting terror, it didn't matter to Nappa.

Either way, they would be remembered.

* * *

She'd almost given up hope of survival when the door was jerked open. Floating in her own little world, buoyed up by the smoke, Siin-Sur had ceased to feel the fire's touch, the burning in her lungs was merely a distant sensation, easily ignored. Brushed aside by the memories which danced and flickered through her mind. At first, she didn't know what was happening. She felt the environment change, there was a grinding noise, a machine-like cry of protest. Then, she was jerked forwards as the firm lid of the door she'd been leaning on moved. Her limbs were far too weak to support her at this point, so she tumbled forwards. Her vision was blurred, she could see hardly anything. Just vague shapes. Sounds reached her ears. Words. But they were distant, muffled. As though they'd travelled a long distance to come to her. Hands fastened around her arms and shoulders, and she felt herself hoisted up into the air.

Someone helped her move; several someone, though she still wasn't able to quite tell what was happening. The door behind her closed again, the sound of the fire vanished. The air cool. Cold and clean. She was still coughing. The smoke was inside her, burning her lungs from within. Her body was cracked by convulsions, and there were more words exchanged. Most of them she missed again, but a few were familiar enough for her to desperately grab at.

"...smoke inhalation..." Someone was saying. A voice that was a little bit familiar to her. It conjured vague images of a friendly-seeming face often glimpsed amidst the staff. There was a name connected to it as well, but her mind seemed as slow and clumsy as the rest of her body, and she couldn't quite call it to her tongue.

Someone else said something back. A series of terse, tight words that she had no chance of comprehending. They gestured to her, And Siin-Sur saw that they were holding something long and metallic, gleaming with deadly promise. The first voice spoke again, its pitched raised in alarm. There was a fierce exchange, then the second stalked away. The first voice watched the second go, and then leaned her gently against the wall.

Her eyes were clearing a bit now, she could see the face in more detail. Through the veil of tears, she noted the familiar features now given new light by desperation. It was a man, scarcely older than her. His hair was dark and swept back into a tight bun. He was slim, and dressed in the uniform of one of the palace guards. Even then, she noticed it. Something about his eyes. Withdrawn and hungry. He looked at her, and said something else. Nonsense still. She couldn't parse it. Her brain felt like it was drowning in smoke, the world around it merely some grand illusion conjured by her dying mind.

The man must have realised her situation. He reached for his belt and withdrew something small. It gleamed coldly between his fingers, a trigger and a stub-like muzzle. This, he pressed against her flesh, and discharged the button. For a moment, nothing happened, then she felt a flash of pain, something sharp cut into her warm. A moment later, she felt her mind jerked suddenly out of its delirium. It was like being hit by a rush of cold water, a sharp, stinging return to reality that left her gasping and gaping. Her body felt weak, and her mind befuddled, but her vision swam into focus around her, and her eyes started to work again.

"I..." She said slowly. Her tongue felt heavy, hard to manipulate. Her throat was stinging. Her whole body was one giant mishmash of various kinds of pain and injuries. Blunt force-inflicted bruises, stinging cuts, burns and smoke-riddled lungs were by far the most obvious, but they didn't account for everything. She took a deep breath, savouring the crisp, coolness of the air.

"Don't try to speak." The man said to her sternly. "You've been breathing mostly smoke for a good while now… I'm surprised you're not dead."

"You..." She gasped again, trying and failing to form words. He cocked his head to the side, as though amused by her efforts.

"What did I inject you with?" He held up the glinting device in his hand. Now with clearer eyes, she could see that it was an injector with a silver handle. There was an image picked out on that handle in darker metal, but she didn't quite get a chance to see it before he swept it away again. "It's a purgative. Cleaning your system even now. Speaking of which, don't get any funny ideas about being back to health or anything. You're not going to be recovered for a while. That thing's just slowing the damage and making it easier for you to breath. Helping your brain to stay active. Focusing you up. That sort of thing. Give it a few more minutes, and you'll be able to talk. A minute or two after that, and you might – stressing ''might'' – be able to move under your own power."

She nodded. She could feel it working already. The strange weightlessness of her limbs was vanishing, replaced now with a leaden intensity that made her almost wish it had not. Her lungs felt like they were raw and bleeding; her throat was a miniature agony each time she drew breath. Looking back, she realised now how close she had come to simply shutting down, and felt the tiny shiver of terror that such knowledge would never leave her again. She'd been moments from death, and if it hadn't been for simple luck, no one would have saved her.

Siin-Sur looked up, seeing the brash, confident look on the guard's face as he checked his weapon. A double-barrelled rifle with a reinforced butt. A sight had been set at the apex of the casing, and she could see that it had several buttons built into the side which managed power distribution, beam intensity and firing mode. A similar, but smaller, gun was stashed in a leather holster connected to his belt.

"Who..." She tested her throat, finding that her voice was working again. She pressed on, wincing at the hoarseness of it. "Who are you…? You look familiar, but..."

"You don't know who I am?" He gave her a surprised look, but it was quickly cast aside for a far more neutral expressions. "Ah, I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. I'm just one of the guards at the Western gate. I see you coming by every day, and I guess you see me too. Though, not as much as I would have figured. When you tried to reach help, the computer linked you into the palace network. Most of the guards were too busy, but I picked it up and raced here to reach you before you ran out of time."

"The...the other one?"

His face fell.

"You saw that? Well, it doesn't matter. My comrade felt that you were already dead, and that it would be easier and quicker if we just put you out of your misery. Luckily, I was able to win that argument, even if she did storm off because of it."

"She was going to shoot me?"

"Yes, but if it helps, it was mostly because she figured that was probably what you would have wanted."

"What's...what's happening…?"

"Oh, the Saiyans have gone on a rampage." The man spoke with a total nonchalance which made her pause for a moment before she realised what he had just said. With a tone that was exactly the same as the one he would have used to order dinner, the palace guard told her that her world had come to an end. "They've killed a lot of people. Most of the guard, the soldiers who were present from elsewhere… most of the nobles, not that anyone will miss _those_ _parasites…_ and of course the King himself."

"The King is dead…?" Even in her exhausted, bedraggled state, she still felt the horror in her own voice. The sheer, childish denial. The desire to have the universe confirm to what she wanted to be the truth. The king couldn't be dead. He was a beloved ruler. Everything he'd done… the new life he'd brought to their world, the pride he'd restored, the logic he'd championed…

"All dust." The guard said, his lips pulling back to form a feral grin. "I'm afraid it's confirmed. The Saiyans reached him and that was the end. Still, not to worry. At least you've got a chance to get out before the big one."

"The big one…? I don't…. I don't understand..."

"Well, you're still high in smoke, so I suppose that's fine. Saiyans came to kill the King, what do you think happens to the palace afterwards? They don't need it anymore."

"They're going to destroy it?!"

"Probably. Best we be on our way by then, don't you think?"

True to his earlier words, she found some strength had returned to her body. Though, she still felt as weak as a newborn, she was able to hobble along so long as the soldier helped to keep her upright. He moved, one arm around her, and one hand clutching the handle of the pistol she'd noted before. The rifle was hung over one shoulder, since he had little chance to use it while helping her walk. Siin-Sur did her best, but the world shook around her, and each time, she almost fell. The guardsman supporting her with a strong arm. She felt such terror and despair as she'd never known before. It was tearing at the edges of her mind. Whispering dark truths, the revelations of what had happened here today, and what it would mean for her world and her people.

As the minutes trickled by, she felt more and more of her facilities return. Soon, she felt more firm on her feet, and after that, strength started to flow back into her limbs. The world stopped spinning, and her sense of balance reaffirmed itself, though it still didn't return in full. Soon enough, she was able to walk under her own power. The guardsmen threw her a disappointed look when she escaped from his grasp, but shrugged and let her get on with it. He un-holstered his rifle again, using it to scan the corridors that they moved through.

Siin-Sur's vision was almost perfectly clear now, but the things she saw on that journey made her wish that it wasn't. She knew then that those things would dwell in her memory for life. The piles of bodies, both soldiers and staff alike. Gunned down where they had been running. Broken and bleeding, their blood mixing and pooling. Spreading down the corridor as though still making some impossible attempt at escape.

She knew then that those faces she would hold until her dying day. These were people she had worked with. People she had known. She stifled sobs as she saw those she recognised, faces she would even have considered friends. It was horrifying, and any moment she wanted to wake up. To find herself in her nice, warm bed. To make this whole thing not have happened. But there was no such luck. Fate had thrown its dice, and it wasn't about to scoop them back up and a re-try. What had happened had happened, and now she had to try and deal with it. Even as each fresh sight revealed new horror, drove itself deeper into the wailing misery that was her memory of the day.

Where was Roran? Where was the man who had been hired to hunt the Saiyans? To prevent exactly this? Why were her friends lying mangled and dead, while the man who was supposed to protect them was nowhere to be seen? Despair and grief gave way to rage. She cursed him under her breath as she went, hating him as she had never hated anyone else. Each stab of grief transmuted as though by magic to a furious anger.

Where was Roran? What had he been doing when the Saiyans had come rushing down this corridors, killing as they went? Why had he not stood here and protected them? Why had he abandoned his duty and the people who relied on him? They'd gunned them all down! Soldiers and citizen alike! No one had been spared! To each had been accorded the mercy merely of a swift death! And even that had been simply because the Saiyans couldn't be bothered to draw it out! From the way the bodies lay, she could see the fear and terror on their faces. The ultimate realisation in their clouding eyes. Death. Death had stalked these corridors, killing as it went. Death had come for these people with no escape. Death with fire, and fury and hate. The only good thing that could be said about it was that maybe they hadn't suffered too much, but that was only because of how fast it had all seemed to be. The wounds which had punched them from their feet were all too clear. Some of them were neat, and others were messy, but nonbe seemed to have left much time for reflection before the end.

Death. She felt cold, looking at the twisted bodies. The frozen expressions of fear of grief and rage and desperation. It churned her stumach and turned her blood to ice.

The Saiyans had done this. But the Erashans had done nothing to deserve it.

Why had such a terrible doom come upon her people?

* * *

The final door slid open with a crash; molten metal dripping from its reinforced edging. It glowed cherry-red for a moment in the aftermath of the intense heat which had forced it from its position. Behind them, several more such doors already led ajar. Each one impressively massive, reinforced and armoured. Be that as it may, none of them had lasted very long, and with a final despairing cry of metal under stress, the last door fell, and the entrance to the inner chambers was opened.

Nappa and Vegeta stepped through. The young prince leading, his hand still extended where smoke curled from between his fingers. His eyes flitted across the room. The inner Chamber was intended to be a backup command post in the event that the palace came under attack and it showed. There were computers set into the walls, many blank screens gazing down at them. There were chairs and consoles of many purposes and makes. There was a small selection of weapons clipped to the wall, locked in by reinforced bars which required a signature to retract. There were places for guards, and hard-points for heavy weapons. In the centre of it all, there was a thick chair, ringed by screens supported by chest-high stands. From here, someone could sit and watch the entire room, their eyes roaming from monitor to monitor so that they could keep tabs on half a dozen actions at once if such was needed. It was a starkly military place, and nowhere could be found the states, portraits or tapestries which so infested the rest of the palace.

It was also empty. Well, in a manner of speaking, anyway.

Certainly, there was no one left alive.

Nappa kicked one of the bodies, a guard who'd died before he could even reach for his weapon. His eyes were misted and grey, and his fingers frozen in the act of reaching for his gun. The kick sent the body flying, tumbling where it landed amidst half a dozen more. All guards. All dead.

"Seems like we got here too late, Vegeta." The bald Saiyan muttered. "Someone else beat us to it."

Vegeta said nothing. His lips were parsed tightly together, ignoring the commentary of his companion in favour of taking in the scene for a moment more. Dead. Everyone here was dead. From the guards who should have been manning the doors to the techs who had worked on the computer. Each was slumped, still and silent. The room was quiet. The bodies were still, and the computers were off. Slowly, he took another step forward. Vegeta was a Saiyan, and death had no fear for him. Nevertheless, he was aware that something was wrong here. Nappa had been with him the whole time, and so, he knew that this had not been done by Saiyan hands. The thought that it might have been Raditz briefly danced in his mind, but he dismissed it with a contemptuous snort. No, it had been someone else.

Consideration as to who it might have been where stalled a moment later when the big chair in the centre of the room turned slightly. Vegeta's eyes flashed towards it, noting the motion. Ready for a trap. But it wasn't a trap, though the chair was most definitely not empty.

"The King!" Nappa snarled, taking a hasty step forwards. "Vegeta he-"

"He's dead, Nappa." Vegeta said, the words like acid in his throat. He didn't care much for the fate of the Erashan King, but it did make his own position much harder. Without a single point of authority, things could turn bad here very quickly. Frieza was looking for an excuse, he just knew it. Had the tyrant arranged this whole thing just to have a reason to kill them?

Upon the chair, where he would have sat in life, the body of the King of Erasha was sprawled. His skin was cold and pale, his eyes were grey, misted with the touch of death. Vegeta didn't need to check to know his body would already be cooling. He'd been dead for a while, then.

Nappa looked to Vegeta, the two Saiyans alone in a room full of the dead.

"What do we do now?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Vegeta snapped. "We find out who did this. Then, we find out who is the highest ranked surviving noble on this disgusting ball of dirt and force them to put a stop to this. Then, we complete our mission, go away, and hope that Frieza never has cause to send us back here again. Or even better, we hope that he _does_ send us back."

"And if the one who did it, and the highest ranking survivor are one and the same, what then, Prince of the Saiyans?

Vegeta started, spinning towards a dark corner in the room. There, hidden by a shadow cast by an overhanging vent of some sort, there was a metal doorway. The door had opened, and there was a figure standing in the threshold. The Prince frowned. His eye darting from the figure to the readings he was getting on his scouter.

"Nothing at all?" He scoffed. "Well, isn't this world just full of disappointment."

"it is. It truly is. More than you know, oh king of killers." The voice came again. Old and scratchy, aged by what surely must have been a century or more. Vegeta saw Nappa tense, but the big Saiyan knew better than to strike without his say-so.

The figure stepped forwards. The light caught it, and did not paint a very tender image of it either. The figure was old. So old that it almost seemed as though they should have moved beyond it, and found some other, more fitting descriptor for them. The one that sprung to mind first was ''withered''.

They were clad in a long, trailing cloak of leather. Various symbols of rank were pinned across the collar, and upon the lapel of their finely made shirt. Most of their chest was taken up by a bulky machine which beeped and churned, a tendril leading up to a half-mask which the figure had secured around its mouth. The skin – that which could be seen – was very dark, and hugely wrinkled. It gave an impression of chocking dust and great age. With eyes that were only half-open, the figure looked at them. Each step was accompanied by a wheezing breath, fed to it by the air-unit strapped to its front.

"You?" Vegeta said, not knowing whether to be insulted or to laugh at the fact that such a decrepit figure claimed to be the one behind this. "You did all of this? Don't make me laugh. Look at you, even a fly could knock you down! I doubt you could even hold a gun, much less dispatch trained warriors. Even ones as lacking as these."

"Hm. So quick to judge." The old being said. "I had help, of course. But the King's death was entirely at my hands. I watched the light die in his eyes with a great deal of enjoyment. Do you know how much I had to debase myself in front of him and his ancestors? ''Oh no, great king'' ''oh glorious leader'' ''how smart you are for selling your people into slavery'' ''how cunning you are to think that Frieza will ever let you go'' Pathetic."

The figure turned and spat on one of the bodies. His slow walk was now taking him close to the centre of the room. He didn't spare a glance towards any of the corpses, save that of the king himself which he regarded with something approaching disgust.

"I recognise you." Vegeta said, the memory finally clicking. "I saw you in the court, with the King. You're the one called..."

"Mo-Fai." The aged adviser said. "That is right. Dear old Mo-Fai. Ancient Mo-Fai who was always present. Mo-Fai the Kind. The Wise. So many titles. So many boring, pretentious platitudes. Do you know who I really am, Prince Vegeta?"

"No, but I have an annoying feeling that you're going to tell me. Why don't you save us both the bother and simply use your authority to end this stupid game of yours. The only ones suffering are your people. We didn't come here to purge this world. But we will if we must."

"By all means, kill them." Mo-Fai's expression was hard to read, but Vegeta got the impression that he was smirking behind that mask. "Kill them all. Destroy every life on this planet. I don't care about them. In fact, it would even be helpful."

"is that so?" Vegeta said, raising an eyebrow. "And how is that? Do you delight in the slaughter of your own then? Do you want to see their pain, their terror at the end? We can do that, but I would have thought you'd be against it."

"My own? These people are not my own." Mo-Fai laughed, a rasping sound, more like the cough of a terminal patient than an expression of good humour. "But even if they were, I'd not object. My own cast me out, so long ago. Along with my brothers, we were sent to roam the stars. Exiled by those who did not have the skill, the power, or the courage which we did. Sent away by fools who refused to heed their own natures.

"No, I'd have no complaint if you killed _them_ either, Saiyan. And as for this world… well, the one who wanted it preserved lies dead in that chair. His blood is on my hands. I killed him and I enjoyed. Save perhaps that I did so too quickly. For though I had to prepare for your arrival, I would have liked to hear him scream."

"Prepared for our coming?" Vegeta repeated that sentence for a moment. "So you're the one who set this in motion, then?"

"How do you figure that Vegeta?"

"Simple, Nappa. The one sent after us had clearance of some sort, yes? That was how he travelled undetected. Someone had to give him that authority. Someone with access to the palace and high level clearance themselves. Isn't that right, Mo-Fai?"

"Yes, it's true. I sent Kha-Mur after you. I was also the one who gave him the power which let him contest you, even if only briefly. I was also the one who ordered the palace guard to the scene, and made them ready to shoot to kill. "

"So you wanted your own people dead then? Because that was the result."

"Though you're mocking me, you're actually not wrong. Tell me, Saiyans, what do you know of magic?"

"Magic?" Nappa snorted. "Are you joking? Only idiots and fools believe in something like that. We've killed a lot of words, fought a lot of races. We've never seen magic."

"And yet, it exists regardless of whether you've seen it or not. Very well then, let us talk of age. I am very old. Older by far than most would guess. In all honesty, I should by now be little more than dust on the wind. Yet I endure. Do you know why that is?"

"Let me guess, magic?" Vegeta said. "If that's what you're going to say, you can cut it short. We don't care how you've survived for so long. Now, give the order to stand down, or else we'll make you do it. Either way, you'll do it in the end."

"Brutal, but practical. I miss threats. The days when I was the one issuing them, I mean. You see, I'm not quite the man I once was. Shall we cut to the chase then? I've set into motion a scheme which you cannot escape. Kha-Mur was but the first. I have other followers. Others who are loyal. As soon as you started to fight the guards, I sent them out into the palace. By now, they've been killing for quite some time. I'm sure that certain floors are positively stained red. Of course, to the rest of the world, this will only stand as more proof of the evil Saiyans who killed the king and burnt the palace. How sad that there were only a few survivors, but luckily, the ancient Mo-Fai was numbered amongst them. How glad we are to have his influence in this troubled time."

"So that's it? You're just trying to use this situation to grab power? You've made a mistake if you think for one moment you're getting out of this without doing what we want. And if you're very lucky, you'll even manage to live past that point."

"I don't know, Vegeta." Nappa grinned at his prince. "Pretty sure we could make it so that would be the _unlucky_ option, if you get what I mean."

"Yes, yes, threats of torture. In actuality, you're wrong. Killing the rest of the palace is not meant to frame you. That's but a useful side-effect. In reality, I have woven a spell. A powerful spell. Imagine it as a net which is cast about the palace. Each time there is a death, a soul flies free, and this net catches it. Stripes it of any dregs of power it has, and throws it out. Now, one soul would be worth very little, even a strong soul… but there are many souls in this palace. Every moment, those numbers drop further. The stored power is given over to me. It's crude, and far less efficient than I'd like. Even worse than my usual rituals, but it will suffice to give me the power I need. Or more specifically, the youth."

"Youth?" Vegeta said. "You're going to try and become young again?"

"Only for a brief time. The life energies of such beings are useless to me save on a grand scale, and even then, it will be hours only. I should thank you. If you hadn't come here, given me this chance, I would have withered away. I was almost resigned to it. Death, I mean. I'd almost accepted it as inevitable. But now, you are here. Two Saiyans. Such power. Such history. Such blood on your hands."

He laughed again. Vegeta noted that his scouter had started to pick him up, the power level slowly beginning to rise. His body too was changing. His skin starting to smooth out, to take on a lighter shade of green. His limbs were thickening, ancient muscle started to grow and swell as it had not in decades.

There was a crash as the rebreather unit hit the ground. Mo-Fai took a deep breath, unaided for the first time in twelve years.

"I am still not at my prime." He admitted to the two Saiyans. "Every soul on this world together could not do that. And in mere hours, I will be old again. Decrepit and weak. But for now… for a brief time… I am strong again. And all thanks to you. I would never be able to cover up the slaughter required, the sacrifice needed, if not for two Saiyans whose reputation will so eagerly shoulder the blame."

Mo-Fai stood up, straighter than he had before. Even to Vegeta's eye, it was clear that he was still not young exactly. Still aged, still wrinkled, even if not to the same extent as before. But there was power to him now. Steel in his eyes. His words had force, authority that they had lacked when wheezed through the grill of a rebreather.

"Here and now, I am going to give you the fight you've wanted since you came to this planet." Mo-Fai said. "But don't worry. When you lose – which you will – you will not die. I would not allow such precious resources to perish. Your raw power is far more than anyone on this world. With two of you, I can finally regain so much of what was lost. I'll suck your strength out slowly. Day by day. Keep you alive long enough to find others. Your coming here really was a miracle, do you know that?"

"You talk far too much." Vegeta said. "Now it's my turn. Do you know why I sat back and listened to that stupefying speech of yours? It was simply because I was curious as to how much stronger you were going to get. If you're finished. If you're ready to fight well then, stop throwing words around and let's fight."

"Prince Vegeta." the old warrior said. "Such pride. Such arrogance. Such strength. It reminds me of one of my brothers. Albeit, in a vastly reduced form. Let's see if you live up to that, shall we? I'll enjoy crushing your pride."

"You can try." Vegeta growled."And when you're bloody and broken, you'll know the true power of a Saiyan's pride!"


End file.
